UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


A 

LIFE   IN  SONG 


BY 


GEORGE  LANSING  .RAYMOND 


FOURTH  EDITION,  REVISED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Ube  ftnicberbocfcer  press 


COPYRIGHT,  1886 

BY 
GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 


THIRD  EDITION,  COPYRIGHT  BY 

GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 

1908 


FOURTH  EDITION,  COPYRIGHT  BY 
GEORGE  LANSING  RAYMOND 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PS 


CONTENTS 

MGK 

PRELUDE i 

FIRST  NOTE 8 

DREAMING le 

SECOND  NOTE 54 

DARING 56 

THIRD  NOTE     ........  93 

DOUBTING 95 

FOURTH  NOTE 140 

SEEKING 142 

FIFTH  NOTE 191 

LOVING 193 

SIXTH  NOTE 244 

SERVING 246 

SEVENTH  NOTE  .                284 

WATCHING .  286 

FINALE 319 


The  course  of  one  born  humble    .     .     . 
Who  yet  attained  the  end  of  highest  aims 
As  grand  as  any  land  or  age  e'er  sought, 
Because  his  plans  when  struggling  toward  the  light 
Emerged  where  freemen  leave  to  God  and  heaven 
The  right  to  rule  the  spirit  though  on  earth. 

FINALE  :  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 


A   LIFE   IN   SONG. 


RELUDE. 


_l_         "  Seven  notes  make  full  the  gamut. 

Some  have  said 
""••  Seven  ages  make  our  human  life 

complete  ; 

And  seven  has  my  life  known  ;  and  now  the  dusk 
Folds  like  a  pall  above  my  earthly  day. 
I  would  not  hold  too  dear  this  day  that  goes  ; 
Yet  who,  when  he  has  pass'd  through  ways  wherein 
His  feet  have  wander'd  and  been  wellnigh  lost, 
Would  leave  no  words  of  guidance  for  his  kind  ? 
And  who,  when  leaving  these  where  heedless  ears 
Are  disenchanted  oft  of  all  distaste 
By  words  men  chant  in  verse  whose  music  seems 
To  pulse  and  pant  like  living  blood  and  breath, 
Or  leave  the  nervy  lines  like  breezes  blown 
From  silence  into  song-land,  as  they  cross 
^Eolian  chords  ; — who  in  a  world  like  this 
i 


2  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Would  not  wish  all  the  current  of  his  thought 
To  flow  to  speech  amid  these  waves  of  rhythm  ? 
More  swiftly  and  more  surely  thus,  perchance, 
The  truth  that  wells  from  him  may  clear  the  space 
Between  his  own  and  other  souls,  and  swell 
The  stream  of  truth  which  flows  from  each  for  all." 

So  spake,  with  eyes  that  fondly  sought  his  works 
As  mothers'  eyes  will  seek  their  children's  forms, 
The  man  whose  care  had  wrought  these  tales  in 

song. 

Then,  turning,  sage-like,  toward  a  waiting  friend, 
He  slowly  said  :  "  Beneath  men's  outward  lives 
There  flows  a  force  whose  current,  sweeping  on, 
Impels  to  outward  good.     But  if  they  start 
To  gain  this  good,  they  oft  are  driven  back  ; 
And  oft  then  start  anew.     Through  all  their  lives 
They  thus  may  struggle  forward,  then  draw  back, 
And  move  now  here,  now  there,  and  half  believe, 
Like  half  the  world,  that  all  their  deeds  are  vain  ; 
Yet  must  it  be  that  far  above  this  earth, 
Where  grander  progress  courses  grander  paths 
Than  mortals  ever  dream  of,  aims  that  urge 
Men's  hope  so  vainly  to  and  fro  below, 
Are  seen  to  swing  the  pendulums  that  turn 
The  hands  on  heaven's  high  dials  to  better  times. 
A  life  like  this,  it  is,  whose  changing  paths 
The  feet  that  tread  the  measure  of  my  verse 


PREL  UDE.  3 

Essay  to  follow.     Would  the  poet's  themes 
Themselves  were  worthier  !     Then  they  less  might 

need 

The  lyre  of  fancy  to  give  charm  to  fact : 
Enough  of  sweetness  might  attend  reports 
Of  footfalls  really  heard,  and  deeds  perceived, 
Impelled  by  sweet  desire." 

With  words  like  these, 
The  dying  poet  turn'd  him  on  his  couch, 
Sank  back,  and  fell  to  rest. 

And  when,  at  morn, 

Friends  came  to  bear  to  him  his  early  meal, 
They  found  him  still  and  pale,  and  by  him  there 
His  poems  lay,  half  held  in  opening  hands. 
Alone  with  these  embodied  thoughts  of  his, 
Prized  so  because  the  forms  to  which  so  oft 
The  spirit  breathed  by  him  had  given  its  life, 
That  spirit  now  had  all  been  breathed  away. 

Of  those  who  mourned  him  then,  none  knew  his 

past, 

They  scarcely  knew  his  name.     Some  days  before, 
With  locks  and  beard  as  white  as  was  the  snow 
Blown   round  him  when   he    came,   his   trembling 

frame 

Had  drifted  hither,  like  a  bark  to  shore  ; 
And  here,  disabled  by  the  strain  and  stress 


4  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Of  many  a  former  tempest,  he  had  stay'd  ; 
And  here,  erelong,  had  found  the  final  port 
Of  all  his  earthly  voyage. 

Nor  then  had  those 

Whose  friendly  doors  had  open'd  for  his  needs 
Been  void  of  their  reward.     For  such  a  man, 
With  so  much  to  draw  forth  from  men  their  best, 
Yet  so  much  to  impart  beyond  their  best, 
These  unversed  villagers  had  never  seen. 
They  could  but  love  him  ;  yet  with  all  their  love, 
The  more  they  knew  him,  something  made  of  him 
Still  more  a  stranger.     All  about  his  life 
There  hung  an  atmosphere  of  mystery. 
He  seem'd  through  it  to  see  what  they  saw  not; 
And  as  their  hush  would  heed  the  rare  reports 
That  reach'd  them  through  the  music  of  his  voice, 
His  thought  oft  seem'd  a  spirit's  ;  none  could  tell 
From  whence  it  came  ;  nor  trace  it  where  it  went. 


So,  when  he  died,  the  room  in  which  he  died, 
And  writings  left  there,  seem'd  like  sacred  things 
To  those  whose  kindly  care  had  tended  him. 
Nor  would  they  touch  them.    "Who  can  tell,"  they 

said, 

"  If  friends  of  his  may  come  in  search  of  him  ? 
And  when  they  come,  if  they  be  like  himself, 


PREL  UDE.  5 

They  may  not  like  it,  if  our  alien  hands 
Have  made  aught  seem  less  his." 

And  soon  it  chanced 

A  friend  had  come.    One  morning,  with  the  sun, 
A  soldier  bright  with  glittering  stars  and  bars 
And  buttons  on  his  uniform  of  blue, 
Whose  martial  mien  commanded  every  eye, 
And  hush'd  the  children's  play,  came  down  the 

street, 

And  paused  before  the  house,  and  enter'd  it. 
And  when  he  gazed  upon  the  vacant  couch 
And  untouch'd  writings  of  the  poet,  then 
The  gem-like  tears,  pursed  in  his  wrinkling  cheeks, 
Fell  like  some  rich  exchange  of  value  due 
Proved  wealth  of  worth  within  the  soul  now  gone. 
"  He  was  my  army  comrade,"  said  the  man. 
"  Had  we  but  known  this,"  one  replied,  "his  form 
Would  like  a  soldier's  have  been  borne  to  rest." 
"  He  was  a  true  reformer,  years  ago 
The  spokesman  of  the  slave,"  said  then  the  first. 
"  Had  we  known  this,"  was  answer'd  now,  "  his  form 
Would  like  a  statesman's  have  been  borne  to  rest." 
"  He  was  a  poet,"  said  the  first,  once  more. 
"  Ah,"  sigh'd  the  other,  "  there  his  poems  lie. 
We  knew  the  poet." 

"  So  you  bore  him  forth, 
With  no  parade  of  honor,"  said  his  friend  ; 


6  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

"  And  that  was  well.      He  would  have  wish'd  no 

more. 

The  soldier  and  the  statesman  are  the  state's, 
And  all  the  pageantry  that  can  augment 
The  dignity  of  office  and  of  power 
Befits  them,  as  the  king  his  robe  and  crown. 
Not  so  the  poet.     He  is  all  mankind's, 
Akin  to  both  the  humble  and  the  high, 
The  weak  and  strong.    Who  most  would  honor  him 
Must  find  in  him  a  brother.     He  but  strives 
To  make  the  truth  that  he  would  speak  supreme, — 
Truth  strongest  when  the  simplest,  needing  not 
The  intervention  of  pretentious  pomp, 
Plumed  with  vain  symbols  of  authority 
To  make  men  keep  their  distance." 

Musing  thus, 

The  man  drew  near  the  writings  ;  and,  erelong, 
Who  watch'd  them  saw  them  sorted,  one  by  one — 
For  all  were  number'd — into  seven  groups. 
And,  at  the  sight,  one  bending  over  them 
Recall'd  a  time  in  which  the  man  they  mourn'd 
Had  talked  of  mystic  numbers  ;  and  had  said 
That,  "  Like  the  days  that  part  the  weeks  in  sevens, 
And  tones  that  run  the  scales  of  sounds  and  hues, 
And  spheres  that  seers  have  seen  in  heavens  and 

hells, 

Like  these  did  nature  seem  all  things  to  group, — 
To  count  the  deep  formations  in  the  rocks, 


PRELUDE.  7 

And  forms  in  life,  till  seven  made  each  complete. 
Ay,  man  on  earth  but  seven  times  ten  years  lived, 
And  all  mankind  through  seven  like  phases  yet 
Might  reach  humanity's  grand  Sabbath-time." 
And  one,  they  said,  who  heard  these  words,  had 

ask'd, 

And  had  discuss'd  the  question  with  his  mates, 
"  Could  mind  and  matter  then  in  any  sense 
Reveal  essential  oneness  ?  "     Answering  which, 
"  Why  not  ? "  had  ask'd  the  poet.    "  Many  a  sage,— • 
Augustine,  Plato,  and  Pythagoras, — 
Had  talk'd  of  souls  as  numbers,  ay,  or  spheres. 
Yet  none,"  he  soon  had  said,  "  could  really  solve 
All  riddles  hidden  in  the  forms  outlined 
By  nature's  curves  and  angles,  or  amid 
The  play  of  her  fair  features,  made  more  fair, 
Like  human  faces,  by  the  thoughts  beneath. 
Read  all  that  so  has  thrill'd  in  every  age 
The  spirits  of  the  wisest  and  the  best." 


OTE  FIRST. 


"The  burden   of  the    poet's 

dying  thought, 
You    all    have    heard,"     the 

stranger-soldier  said. 
"  'T  is  fitting  then  you  all  should  solve  with  me 
His  meaning — in  these  poems  ";  and  he  read 
The  title  "  Dreaming."     "  Truly  here,"  said  he, 
"  This  man  would  tell  us  of  his  own  sweet  life  ; 
For  he  began  life  dreaming,  he  himself. 
I  knew  him  when  a  boy,  a  poet  then, 
With  brain  on  fire  to  learn,  aye  glowing  like 
A  gilder's  cauldron,  so  the  crudest  thought 
That  reach 'd  it  from  a  neighbor's  lip  or  book 
Came  from  it  glittering  like  a  precious  thing. 
An  orphan,  bound  and  work'd  beyond  enduring 
By  those  whose  hard,  cold  natures  could  not  yield 
That  genial  warmth  of  sympathetic  care 
For  which  the  spring-time  of  his  nature  craved, 
Anon,  there  seem'd  for  him  but  one  delight : 
It  came  from  realms  of  dreams,  while,  on  his  bed, 
8 


NOTE  FIRST.  9 

Too  tired  for  sounder  slumber,  he  would  toss; 
And,  like  a  galley-slave,  forced  out  to  sea, 
Yearn  for  some  harbor  somewhere  in  the  world 
Where  waiting  love  would  welcome  love  that  came. 
Oft  in  rare  moments  that  he  stole  from  work, 
Would  he  confide  to  me  his  wrongs  and  hopes. 
I  seem  to  see  him  yet,  the  straight  brown  hair 
Toss'd  wildly  backward  from  the  broad  white  brow, 
The  sunburnt  cheeks,  the  deep  and  wondering  eyes, 
As  blue  when  grand  emotion  swept  within, 
As  autumn  skies  are  in  the  northwest  wind, 
With  just  as  much  of  heaven  back  of  them — 
Dear  boy  ! — and  he  has  told  us  here  perchance 
Of  what  he  dream'd." — So  spoke  the  soldier-friend; 
And  paused  a  time.     Then,  vaguely,  with  a  look 
Turn'd  inward  toward  the  soul,  as  if  to  find 
Dear  stores  in  memory,  he  began  to  read  ; 
And  one  by  one  the  people  who  had  stood 
To  greet  the  stranger,  softly  took  their  seats  ; 
And  not  alone  the  poem  held  them  there. 
The  aged  soldier's  well  kept,  youthful  voice, 
The  ringing  echo  of  a  singing  heart, 
Charm'd  all,  like  chimings  of  the  old  church  bells, 
Which,  sweet  in  summer,  yet  still  sweeter  seem, 
When  peal'd  amid  the  winter's  wind-whiri'd  snow. 


REAMING. 


Life    is   poised  on   slender  mo 
ments  ;    all   eternity    on   time ; 
And  the  "still  small  voice"  reveals 
the  presence  of  a  power  sublime. 
Footfalls,  light  as  dreams',  may  wake  the  slumbering 

soul's  activity, 
Rouse  the  source  whence  thought  and  feeling  issue 

toward  their  destiny, — 
Toward  the  good,  if  lured  by  movements  where  a 

pathway  leads  to  weal ; 
Toward  the  ill,  if  turning  only  where  the  wiles  of 

craft  appeal. 
Whether  come  a  sound,  a  fragrance,  or  a  light  that 

stirs  the  mind  ; 
Something  wakes   a  wish  within  one  ;   something 

gleams  we  glance  to  find  ; 

And  we  start ;  and  then  press  toward  it,  on  beyond 
the  joys  of  youth  ; 


DREAMING.  1 1 

On,  till  old  age  falls  in  death,  to  spring  apart  the 
gates  of  truth. 

n. 

Every  thing  in  art  or  nature,  robed  in  rich  or  rude 

attire, 
Gains  in  beauty  while  it  gains  in  power  to  lure  a 

pure  desire. 
Surface  claims  may  charm  the  senses,  but  the  spirit 

from  its  throne 
Waives  away  all  other  suitors  for  what  charms  itself 

alone. 
Thus  we  find  that,  while  they  long  to  see  the  scenes 

of  which  they  sing, 
Blind  or  banish'd  poets  conjure  forms  more  fair  than 

sight  could  bring. 
Thus  we  find,  where  evening  shadows  lie  reclined 

at  close  of  day, 

All  the  world  grows  more  attractive,  veil'd  in  twi 
light's  guise  of  gray  ; 
For,  in  dim  relief,  its  outlines  woo  our  wonder  and 

surmise. 
While  the  stars  like  sparks  that  linger  where  the  fire 

of  sunset  dies 
Kindle  oft  our  aspirations,  which,  as  grandly  they 

evolve, 
Light  the  brow  of  meek  conjecture  with  the  flush  of 

bold  resolve. 


12  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

III. 

Is  it  strange,  that  such  an  evening,  when  my  days 

were  filled  with  strife, 
Such  an  evening,  far  and  hazy,  seems  the  sweetest 

of  my  life  ? 
Is  it  strange  that  memory,  gazing  back   through 

many  a  year's  expanse, 
Now  recalls  the  scenes  I  saw  then,  clad  in  grave 

significance  ? 

IV. 

On  that  eve,  for  once,  my  soul,  set  free  from  toil, 
had  just  been  brought, 

Through  a  fairy  realm  of  fiction,  near  the  life  for 
which  I  sought. 

Then  I  turn'd  and  watch'd  the  sunset,  with  emo 
tions  vague  and  wild, 

Till  I  seem'd  a  thing  scarce  human,  strange  as 
mystery's  very  child. 

Not  of  earth  nor  heaven  appear'd  I.  I  was  one 
with  that  mild  light, 

Which  had  veii'd  in  awe  the  hills  before  the  hush'd 
approach  of  night  ; 

And  through  all  the  clouds  that  floated  rose  the 
forms  of  angels  fair, 

And  I  seem'd  to  heed  their  whispers  in  the  move 
ments  of  the  air. 


DREAMING.  13 

Far  adown  the  west  I  track'd  them,  till  there  met 
my  wondering  gaze 

Mountains  in  the  sky  that  fring'd  a  sky-set  sea 
begirt  with  haze, — 

Haze  from  shore-sand  bright  as  gold-dust  blown  to 
clouds  by  winds  of  noon  ; 

But  across  the  sea's  blue  depth  appear'd  to  sail  the 
crescent  moon. 

Scarce  I  saw  this,  when  beyond  it  I  descried  with 
pleasure  great 

Outlines  of  a  heavenly  port  illumed  as  for  a  heav 
enly  fete. 

v. 

Ah,  how  wondrous  was  that  city,  rear'd  amid  the 

cloud-land  bright, 
Where  that  sunset  capt  the   climax  of  the   day's 

completed  light. 
How  the  wall  that  coil'd  around  it  glow'd  along  its 

winding  way  ! 
And  how  flash'd  the  floods  of  flame  that  in  the 

moat  before  it  lay  ! 
What  though  underneath  their  splendor  stretch'd  a 

storm-cloud  black  and  long  ? 
'T  was  a  bass-note  held  beneath  that  sweeter  o'er  it 

made  the  song. 

For,  above,  as  if  aspiring  toward  the  heaven's  en 
kindled  fires, 


14  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Toward  the  sky  in  countless  numbers,  press'd  the 

domes  and  pierc'd  the  spires  ; 
Domes,  high  arch'd,  with  tints  to  rival  rainbows  in 

their  every  hue, 
Join'd  with  spires  from  darkness  pushing,  till  their 

peaks  effulgent  grew  ; 
Spires  like  prayers  that  start  from  anguish,  aim'd 

for  where  all  blessings  are, 
Spires  like  hope  that  falters  never  while  above  it 

shines  a  star. 
Then — and  how   my  gaze  prof  an 'd  them  ! — what 

retreats  for  bliss  appear'd 
In  those  fair  illumined  mansions   that   along  the 

streets  were  rear'd  ! — 
Streets  like  shafts  of  light  far  shooting,  fading  like 

the  sun  from  view, 
Back  of  trees  with  leaves  like  autumn's,  when  life's 

fires  have  burned  them  through. 
In  my  soul  I  half  believed  I  then  should  leave  this 

earthly  star, 

Gazing  like  the  seer  on  Pisgah,  toward  that  prom 
ised  land  afar. 

VI. 

After  this,  my  thoughts,  returning  back  to  earth, 

grew  mutinous  ; 
And  rebellious  meditation  to  their  tocsin  murmur'd 

thus  : 


DREAMING.  1 5 

"  Five  years — it  is  long  to  languish  with  no  teacher 
but  desire 

In  these  hours  of  stolen  study,  snatch'd  from  toil  in 
sweat  and  mire. 

Wherefore  was  I  left  an  orphan,  and  the  ward,  with 
out  a  joy, 

Of  a  man  who  into  manhood  thinks  to  keep  me  still 
a  boy, 

Keep  me  back  from  needed  knowledge,  like  a  weak 
ling  soon  to  die, 

Who,  if  train'd  in-doors,  might  fail  to  make  my 
friendship  with  the  sky  ! 

Why  should  he  so  crush  and  curse  me,  dashing 
water  on  my  fire — 

Quenching  with  a  hiss  each  spark  that  gleams  to 
show  my  soul's  desire  ? 

VII. 

"  Ah  !  how  oft,  released  from  labor,  when  day's 

heat  and  dust  were  stay'd, 
By  the  calm,  cool  fires  of  starlight,  I  have  dream'd 

and  hoped,  and  pray'd  ; 
And  of  things  divine  had  visions,  all  so  complex 

and  so  vast, 
That  my  mind  could  comprehend  but  parts  of  them, 

the  while  they  pass'd  ; 
Parts  that  yet  so  charm'd  and  thrill'd  me,  that,  with 

all  its  might  and  main, 


l6  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Thought  would  soar  on  high  to  match  them,  but 

would  soar  and  soar  in  vain, 
Till,  to  my  bewilder'd  yearning,  in  the  distance  all 

would  fade, 
Where  their  long-drawn  trains  of  splendor  slowly 

left  the  world  in  shade. 
Why  should  mortals  be  becalm'd  amid  the  earthly 

darkness  here, 
While  the  lights  from  countless  havens  throng  the 

heavens  far  and  near  ! 
Surely  sails,  wide  spread  to  woo  them,  heaven's  fair 

winds  cannot  forsake  : 
That  which  moves  to  right  moves  onward,  tho'  but 

slowly  grows  its  wake. 
Surely,  souls,  if  but  persistent   in  the  search   of 

truth  long  sought, 
Spy  new  worlds  arise  where  clouds  had  coursed  but 

watery  wastes  of  thought." 

VIII. 

Thus  with  varying  moods  I  sat  there,  till  each  radi 
ant  sunset  cloud, 

Like  some  living  form,  seem'd  buried  in  a  gently 
gather'd  shroud. 

Yet  my  thought  still  rested  on  it :  naught,  oh, 
naught  of  good  so  dies  : 

It  but  disappears,  anon,  to  don  a  resurrection 
guise. 


DREAMING.  1 7 

Blessings  grieve  us,  when  they  leave  us  ;  but  they 

leave  no  sunless  gloom. 
Everywhere  new  life   may  spring  up,  everywhere 

new  beauty  bloom. 
So  for  me,  as  died  that  sunset,  all  at  once  there 

came  a  change  ; — 
For  I  slept,  and  dreamt  the  sky  there  flew  apart 

with  flashing  strange, 
O'er  which  clouds  abruptly  gather'd,  as  if  thus  to 

screen  from  me 
Thrice  ten  thousand  flames  that  lit  a  path  more 

deep  than  space  could  be. 
Wonder  then  my  brain  bewilder'd  :  reasoning  all  to 

rapture  flew. 
"  Surely,"  thought  I,  "  joy  celestial  crowns  the  light 

with  halo  new. 
It  may  be  an  angel-greeting  to  some  saint !  "  then 

futile  quite, 
This  attempt  of  reason   left  me,  for  behold !   a 

stranger  sight : 
Swift  from  flash  to  flash  augmenting,  as  a  torrent 

seeks  the  sea, 
All  those  flames  that  rose  and  fell  appear'd  to  start 

and  flow  toward  me. 
Then  my  soul  within  me  fluttered.     Here  was  what 

I  long  had  sought. 
"  Farewell  now  to  earthly  fetters  !     Yes,  they  burst, 

they  burst !  "  I  thought. 


1 8  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Ere  they  did  so,  all  my  spirit  grew  more  calm  ;  for, 
far  away, 

Rose  a  song  with  words  revealing  what  the  light 
could  not  convey. 

Sweet  it  was  as  if  the  heavens  would  all  their  sweet 
store  shower  below ; 

And  by  one  flood  quench  forever  all  the  thirst  of 
mortal  woe  ; 

And  my  moods  were  swept  before  it  in  a  spell  re 
sistless  bound, 

As  a  sailor,  sinking  softly,  where  the  deep  sea  laps 
him  round. 

But  can  I  recall  the  song  now  ? — Better  bid  yon 
meadow  nook 

Hold  the  whole  great  rain  that  blest  it  on  its  jour 
ney  down  the  brook. 

IX. 

Ay,  when  men  who  would  direct  you  onward  toward 

the  realms  of  truth, 
Where  exhaustless  wells  of  wisdom  quench  desires 

of  endless  youth, 
In  their  efforts  falter,  blunder,  and  with  phrases 

vague  and  blind, 
Void   of  close   and  clear  expression,  leave   their 

meaning  hard  to  find, 
Blame  them  not :  their  case  is  human  :  themes  and 

aims  as  grand  as  these 


DREAMING.  19 

Overflow  the  burden'd  words  that  bear  our  lesser 

thoughts  with  ease. 

Many  guiding  views  beyond  us  loom  but  dimly  un 
derstood  : 
Many  schemes  are  hatch'd  that  famish  where  our 

imperfections  brood. 
O  how  oft  when  stirr'd  to  rescue  those  we  love 

from  threaten 'd  woe, 
Or  to  point  them  toward  the  pathways,  where  in 

safety  men  may  go, 
Our  own  lack  of  tact  or  temper  has  equipt  advice 

amiss, 
Veil'd  like  truth  with  features  hid  behind  a  warp  of 

prejudice. 
Ay,  how  often,  when  the  light  that  guided  us  has 

gleam'd  within, 
We  have  wish'd  that  our  reflections  might  enlighten 

then  our  kin, 
But  though  brighter  minds  might  aid  them,  ours,  at 

least,  were  dull  as  night, 
Striving  ever,  failing  ever,  half  our  views  to  mirror 

right. 
Foremost  of  our  best  possessions,  faith   fails  not 

that  can  but  feel ; 
Yet  how  blest  are  they  who  know  and  can  their 

grounds  of  faith  reveal. 
They  alone,  amid  the  shades,  where  men  who  move 

toward  mystery 


20  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Long  to  know  what  joy  or  woe  is  yet  to  be  their 
destiny, 

They  alone,  with  heaven-lit  torches,  flashing  light 
the  darkness  through, 

Can  disclose  beyond  the  gloom  the  looming  out 
lines  of  the  true. 

x. 

Power  like  their's,  and  more  were  needed,  to  recall 

what  thrill'd  me  there 
In  that  music  flowing  round  me,  as  if  fountain 'd  in 

the  air. 
All  the  tones  appear'd  spontaneous  ;  yet,  beyond 

all  discord  sweet, 
By  divine  and  inner  impulse   made   to   blend   in 

chords  complete. 
Somehow  thus    the  phrases   ran,  and   roll'd,    and 

echoed  through  the  night ; 
And  the  changes  that  they  rang  were  all  to  praise 

the  Source  of  Light : — 

XL 

Hail,  hail,  hail, 

Eternal  Glory  hail  ! 
Ye  powers  of  light,  high  o'er  the  night 

Where  only  gloom  had  lain, 
Began  your  sway,  ere  dawn'd  a  day, 

And  evermore  shall  reign. 


DREAMING.  2 1 

Before  one  star  had  flash'd  afar 

Light  fill'd  creation's  throne, 
And,  ere  the  birth  of  air  or  earth, 

In  growing  splendor  shone. 

Gleam,  gleam,  gleam, 

And  ever  brighter  beam, 
And  far  away  through  endless  day 

Forever  onward  stream. 

Hail,  hail,  hail, 

Infinite  Goodness,  hail  ! 
From  heavenly  height  through  day,  through  night. 

And  down  to  deepest  hell, 
From  central  throne  to  circling  zone, 

Where'er  a  world  can  dwell, 
The  hosts  of  right  their  shafts  of  light 

Hurl  onward  through  the  sky  ; 
And  rear  their  bow  o'er  rain  below, 

And  routed  clouds  that  fly. 

Shine,  shine,  shine, 

The  universe  is  thine  ; 
In  blackest  hell,  burst  full  and  fell, 
Like  lightning,  flame  divine  ! 

Hail,  hail,  hail, 

Almighty  Truth  prevail  ! 
At  thy  command,  in  every  land, 

O'er  haunts  of  lust  and  lies 
The  stars,  a  band  of  guardsmen,  stand ; 

And  dawn  with  ardor  hies. 
The  lightning  bounds  and  thunder  sounds, 

And  fire  and  air  enroll, 


22  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  all  that  live  allegiance  give 

To  their  supreme  control. 

Wail,  wail,  wail  ; 

Ye  powers  of  darkness,  quail  ; 
And  flee  until  the  wrong  be  still, 

And  right  may  drop  its  mail. 

Hail,  hail,  hail, 

Unchanging  Promise,  hail  ! 
O'er  all  that  jars  the  world,  the  stars 

Burn  on  the  long  night  through. 
Aurora  lights  her  giddy  bights. 

The  comet  cleaves  the  blue. 
The  sun  and  breeze  from  beds  of  ease 

The  scatter'd  fogs  pursue. 
From  land  and  sky  the  shadows  fly. 

Awaking,  winks  the  dew  ; 

Speed,  speed,  speed, 

With  light  sow  every  mead  ; 
And  haste  the  time  when  every  clime 

Shall  glow  as  grows  the  seed. 


XII. 


Ere  the  echoes  that  rehears'd  it  learn 'd  the  tones  of 

half  the  lay 
Those  who   hymn'd  it  hove  in   view  from  out  a 

cloud  of  golden  spray. 
Such  a  sight  has  oft  allured  me,  rous'd  by  morn's 

first  herald-gleam, 


DREAMING.  2$ 

Floating  up  the  edge  of  slumber  in  a  just  awaking 

dream. 
Angel  forms,  no  man  could  number,  circled  in  a 

band  of  light 
Round  a  chariot  framed  of   splendor,  drawn  by 

steeds  of  dazzling  white. 
Softly  sped  they  o'er  the  vapors  ;  and,  with  wings 

of  texture  rare, 
Woke  low   throbs   of  murmuring   music,    as   they 

lightly  struck  the  air. 
And   the    chariot   bore  a  Being  with  a  smile  so 

sweetly  bright, 
One  could  better  paint,  than  it,  the  fragrance  of 

that  summer  night. 

XIII. 

"  How  could  mortal  dare  to  face  her  ?  "  thought  I  ; 

"nay,  it  should  not  be." 
And  like  veils  my  eyelids  fell  to  screen  my  soul  she 

should  not  see. 
Then  at  once  my  dream  had  shifted.     Down  below 

me  met  my  sight, 
As  of  old,  the  farm  and  cattle.     Turn'd  away  from 

all  that  light, 
Once  again  my  form  seem'd  staggering  through  a 

task  too  hard  and  mean, 
While  my  very  soul  was  trembling  lest  my  lack  of 

strength  were  seen. 


24  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

"  Cruel  fate  !  "  cried  I,  despairing  ;  "none  on  earth 

so  curst  as  I !  " — 
Then  my  eyes,  above  me  glancing,  saw  that  fair 

one  still  draw  nigh. 
On  she  came,  until  she  reached  me,  bade  those 

angel-bands  depart, 
And,  with  accents  fill'd  with  love  that  thrill'd  my 

very  spirit's  heart, 
"  Come,"  she  said,  "  and  sit  beside  me  "  ;  and  I 

rose,  I  wist  not  how, 
And  within  her  car  I  found  me  ;  nor  had  known  of 

bliss  till  now. 
Up  from  earth  and  through  the  sky,  and  over  land 

and  lake  it  springs, 
Lightly   drawn   and   gently   guided  by  the  white 

steeds'  beating  wings. 
Then  along  the  long  horizon  sudden  forms  would 

flash  in  view, 
And  like  suns  our  skies  illumine,  as  we  by  them 

swiftly  flew. 

XIV. 

Soon  my  spirit  yearn'd  to  ask  her  what  these  won 
drous  things  could  be. 

But,  while  still  I  dared  not  do  it,  she,  who  knew 
what  stirr'd  in  me, 

Said,  as  if  she  heard  me  question  :  "  Mortal  homes 
are  fix'd  in  stars. 


DREAMING.  2$ 

We  have  left  the  bounds  of  matter  ;  here  are  burst 

the  prison  bars, 
Out   from  which,  with   powers   contracted   and   a 

weary  sense  of  strife, 
Souls,  like  convicts  through  their  grating,  steal  ? 

luring  glimpse  of  life. 

Here  are  regions  where  the  spirit,  freed  from  fet 
tering  time  and  space, 
Wings  her  flight  through  scenes  eternal,   reading 

thought  as  face  reads  face. 
Here  the  good  reveal  their  goodness,  and  the  wise 

their  wisdom  show  ; 
And  from  open  minds  about  them  souls  learn  all 

that  souls  can  know." 

xv. 

"All  they  learn,"  I  thought;  "learn  all  things?"— 

and  my  dream  had  changed  again  ; 
And  my  master  stood  before  me,  and  I  dared  to  tell 

him  then, 
Till  his  dark  face  loom'd  like  smoke  round  eyes  in 

which  fierce  anger  burn'd  ; — 
Tell  him  that  the  heavens  had  shown  me  't  was  my 

right  for  which  I  yearn'd. 
At  my  words  he  sprang  to  strike  me — struck — and 

lo  !  it  seem'd  the  world 
Stagger'd  like  some  drunken  giant,  while  I  to  the 

ground  was  hurl'd. 


26  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

"All   is   ended    now,"   I    thought — when,   like    a 

mother's  voice  in  youth, 
Rose  my  guide's  :  "  God's  children,"  said  she,  "  have 

a  right  to  know  God's  truth. 
In  the  world  brains  mould  to  bodies,  but  across  its 

border-line 
Royal  minds  must  share  their  purple,  slaves  with 

kings  become  divine. 

XVI. 

"O   if    but  a  spirit's  vision   once   could  reach  a 

mortal's  eyes, 
In  it  he  might  more  discover  than  he  else  could  e'en 

surmise. 
Hold,  my  steeds — while  men  are  slumbering,  we 

may  note  their  dreams  to-night. 
Note,  my  child,  while  passing  through  them,  scenes 

that  greet  angelic  sight. 
These  augment  by  all  the  fancies  forged  in  all  these 

burning  spheres, 
From  the  Pole-star  past  the  Lion,  far  as  where  the 

Cross  appears  ; 
Conjure  them  like  minds  that  muse  them,  varied  as 

their  interests  ; 
Add  completed  recollection,  and  all  thought  that 

each  suggests  ; 
Then  conceive  a  soul's  emotions,  while  such  visions 

loom  in  sight — 


DREAMING.  2/ 

You  have  only  dream'd  a  dream  of  one  short  night 
of  heaven's  delight." 


XVII. 

While  she  spoke,  from  out  the  distance,  rose  in 

view  what  seem'd  a  grove  ; 

But  beneath  its  boughs  a  dreamland,  like  a  laby 
rinth,  unwove. 
There  were  paths  like  those  of  Eden.     There  were 

mountains  high  and  grand, 
Hung  to  wild,  fantastic  fortunes  o'er  a  dizzy  dearth 

of  land. 
There  were  lakes  all  diamond-dappled  ;  there  were 

streams  that  rushed  at  meres 
Arch'd  by  bridges,  rainbow-girdled,  where  the  high 

spray  leapt  their  piers. 
There   were   flowers   that  flush'd   through   vistas, 

where  alternate  floods  of  sheen, 
Rich  as  tides  of  amber,  flow'd   through   shaded 

banks  of  evergreen. 
There  were  trees  whose  broad,  high  branches  cradled 

all  the  stars  o'erhead. 
There  were  lawns  whose  tender  grasses  could  not 

stand  a  fairy's  tread. 
Orchards,  gardens,  halls,   and    temples   fill'd   the 

fields  ;  and  in  them  seem'd 


28  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Every  creature,  of  which  fancy,  past  or  present,  e'er 

had  dream 'd, — 
Birds  and  beasts  of  all  conditions,  dancing,  dozing, 

forward,  shy, 
Strown,  as   if  on  isles   that  throng'd   an  endless 

ocean  in  the  sky. 

XVIII. 

"Can  it  be  that  heaven,"  I  ask'd,  "is  fill'd  with 

thoughts  of  things  like  these  ? " 
"  In  the  heaven's  blue  vault  about  us,  where  earth 

floats  in  cloud  and  breeze, 
All   are  held,"   she  said,  "  that  earth  holds  ;   nor 

would  past  their  borders  pour 
Were  the  opening  voids  about  them  fill'd  with  in 
finitely  more." 
"  Can  it  be  that  heaven,"  I  cried,   "  can  care  for 

beasts  that  work  the  field  ? — 
Then  for  him  who  works  beside  them  !  " — and  with 

this  my  dream  reveal'd 
At  my  feet  the  well-turn'd  furrows  where  I  trudg'd 

behind  my  plow — 
Only  now  it  flew  before  me,  speeded  on  I  knew  not 

how, 
Only  now  it  drew  me  upward, — then  was  not  a 

plow  at  all, 
But  the  chariot  where  my  guide  sat.     "  Heaven," 

she  said,  "deems  nothing  small." 


DREAMING.  29 

XIX. 

Then,  anon,  she  bade  me  note  rare  nixes'  forms, 

whose  golden  hair 
Flow'd  about  their  sunny  faces,  fair  as  clouds  in 

sunset  air. 
Then  those  clowns  that  mask  and  romp  she  pointed 

out, — Shedeem  and  Jinn  ; 

Then,  at  flower-beds,  peris  giddy  with  their  fra 
grance  long  drunk  in. 
Near  them  flitted  timid  wights,  and,  where  high 

cliffs  half  hid  the  light, 
Dodg'd  the  goldsmith-duergar,  dragging  all  their 

gleaming  stores  from  sight. 
In  a  stream  were  necks  and  kelpies,  pressing  down 

a  plump  stromkarl ; 
Near  them,  gulf'd  in  water-lilies,  dracs  who  made  a 

mermaid  snarl ; 
Farther  off,  the  leprechaun  with  bantering  brogue 

he  hammered  well, 

Where  his  quick  blows  fell  more  soft  than  rain 
drops  on  the  fairy-bell 
Then  we  met  with  monster-deeves,  a  korred  with 

her  shaggy  head, 
Trolls   and    trows   in   gay  green  jackets,   topt  by 

fiery  caps  of  red, 
And  a  crowd  of  sly  hobgoblins   lugging  off  some 

cellar's  ware ; 


30  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  an  old-time  nis  and  lutin.     All  of  Bedlam  now 

seem'd  there  : 
Brownies   proud   of  plaids   and   thistles,   kobolds 

flushed  with  too  much  beer, 
Boggart -snobs  astride  a  lion,  roaring  so  the  deaf 

could  hear, 
And  frail  elves,  like  smoke  in  whirlwinds,  dancing, 

while  the  hogfolk  sung  ; 
Or,  detected,  swiftly  skulking   toward   the   leaves 

they  hid  among. 

xx. 

Then  I  saw  a  stranger  marvel : — smaller  than  each 

mate  so  small, 
Floated  near  the  wee'st  wonder  one  could  ever  see 

at  all. 
First  it  seem'd  a  passing  snow-flake  ;    then  repaid 

my  steadfast  gaze 
With  the  outlines  of  a  skiff  there,  fill'd  with  cheery, 

film-like  fays ; 
And  up  through  the  shifting  atoms  of  the  air  that 

parted  us 

Oozed  in  tiny  tones  a  ditty,  ;  and  the  lines  were 
worded  thus  : 

XXI. 

To-night,  to-night,  my  fairies  white, 
The  fair  sweet  air  we  sail. 


DREAMING.  31 

But  first  a  tune  to  tease  the  moon 

That  tempts  us  toward  the  vale  : — 
Who  cares  to  go  where  roses  glow 

In  sheen  the  moonlight  sheds, 
And  globes  of  dew  are  sparkling  through 

The  tent  the  spider  spreads  ? 
Your  moonstruck  fay  may  dance  away 
And  crush  the  rose-leaves  all  to  hay — 

Who  cares  ? — I  don't ! — Do  you  ? 

But  note  you  there  that  maiden  fair — 

Ha,  ha,  a  dainty  bit ! 
She  dreams  a  dream  of  love  I  deem. — 

Queen  Mab  's  a  wicked  wit ! 
Come,  come,  a  jump;  and  down  we  '11  thump; 

And  dance  about  her  heart. 
'T  will  beat  and  beat — aha,  how  sweet 

The  thrills  we  there  shall  start ! 
We  '11  tickle  her  neck,  and  tickle  her  toes, 
And  tickle  her  little  lips  under  her  nose — 

Who  cares  ? — I  don't  ! — Do  you  ? 

And  then  we  '11  huff  that  mourner  gruff, 

Till  he  unknits  his  brow. 
We  '11  whiz  and  whiz  about  his  phiz, 

And  pinch  his  lips,  I  vow  ; 
Then  hide  and  seek  in  hair  so  sleek, 

And  down  each  wrinkle  spare  ; 
And  ply  his  eye,  if  dry,  too  dry  ; 

And  slide  the  lashes  there  ; 
And  when  big  drops  begin  to  flow, 
Oh,  how  we  '11  dodge  the  flood,  oh  ho  !— 

Who  cares  ? — I  don't ! — Do  you  ? 


32  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

The  raoon  may  keep  the  earth  asleep— 

We  '11  twist  things  ere  we  go. 
The  beau  shall  toss  a  baby  cross, 

The  belle  shall  beat  her  beau  ; 
The  men  be  boys  ;  and  boys  the  toys 

Of  girls  that  at  them  scream  ; 
And  when  they  wake,  oh,  how  they  '11  shake 

To  find  it  all  a  dream  ! 
They  '11  think  of  wind  and  fly  and  flea  ; 
But  not  of  you,  and  not  of  me. — 

Who  cares  ? — I  don't  ! — Do  you  ? 


XXII. 

Charmed  at  this,  I  bent  me  nearer ;  but  dismay ! 

off  dodged  the  toy, 
Shaken  like  a  note  of  laughter  from  the  bounding 

breath  of  joy. 
"  Cruel  thing,"  I  cried,  provoked  then  ;  "  weazen'd 

witchery  of  delight, 
Far  too  fine  for  eyes  to  find  you,  why  should  you 

have  crossed  their  sight !  " 

XXIII. 

Then  I  thought  this  whole  odd  vision  might  be  an 

imagined  one  ; 
Some  had  deem'd  that  half  life's  fabrics  were  from 

mere  thin  fancy  spun. 


DREAMING.  33 

"  Is  it  so,"  at  last  I  question'd  ;    "  are  not  things 

the  things  they  seem  ? 
Do  souls  oft  but  serve  delusions,  heeding  steps  of 

which  they  dream  ?  " 
"  Those  who  think  so,"  said  she  softly,  "  overlook, 

when  thinking  so, 
Truths   within   man's   nature   deeper   than  proof's 

plummets  ever  go. 
Souls  reflect  all  life  like  mirrors,  and  their  dreams 

by  day,  by  night, 
Though  distorting  oft,  oft  image  facts  too  fine  for 

finite  sight. 
Borne  through  life,  all  move  in  orbits,  whose  far 

cycles  curve  about 
Circling    spirit-light   within  them,  circled   by  the 

world's  without. 
What  they  call  their  consciousness  is  but  the  focus 

where  are  brought 
Rays,  borne  in  from  all  about  them,  burning  to  a 

blaze  in  thought. 
Few   can  see,  beyond   their   thought,   the   source 

whence  all  that  lights  them  flows  ; 
Few,  except  the  best  whose  heaven  seems  bright 

though  earth  be  dark  with  foes  ; 
Or  the  worst  who    learn  that,  when  uprightness 

bends  to  evil's  might, 
Conscience  brings  the  consciousness  that  souls  have 

lost  their  spirit-light. 


34  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXIV. 

"  Thus  the  good  are  fill'd  with  trust,  and  thus  the 

evil  oft  with  fear  ; 
For  they  dream  of  powers  about  them,  swaying  all 

in  every  sphere  ; 
Powers  of  good  and  powers  of  evil.     Ay,  men  feel, 

that,  bow'd  in  prayer, 
Not  with  flesh  and  blood  they  wrestle,  but  with 

those  that  rule  the  air  ; 
Nor  will  vanish  thence  till  vanquish 'd  by  that  Spirit, 

whose  control 
Rolls  the  star,  and  waves  the  sea,  and  works  the 

most  self-govern'd  soul  ; 

And  can  send,  for  rare  communion,  cloth'd  in  rai 
ment  all  too  white 
For  the  ken  of  common  vision,  those  who  force  the 

wrong  to  flight." 

xxv. 

We  had  left  that  place  of  fancy,  and  had  reach'd  a 

star-lit  sea  ; 
And  across  its  dark,  deep  waters,  clouds,  like  smoke 

where  burned  the  lee, 
Clung  about  a  crystal  temple,  rising  from  the  surf 

below 
Like  a  dawn  of   endless  promise  o'er  a  night  of 

ended  woe. 


DREAMING.  35 

Everywhere  behind  the  cloud-mist,  could  we  see 

the  temple  rise, 
Everywhere,  each    side   and   o'er   us,  till  we   lost 

it  in  the  skies. 
Then,  anon,  at  pearly  steps,  before   an   entrance 

dim  and  vast, 
In  some  way,  but  how  I  knew  not,  we  had  left  our 

car  at  last ; 
And  through  gold-mail'd  hosts  were  moving,  who 

would  part,  and  pass  us  on, 
Swept,  like  gods,  amid  a  glory  blazed  from  all  we 

gazed  upon, 
Toward  a  towering  portico,  a  cliff  of  shafts  that 

upward  went, 
Till  the  very  stars  appear'd  to  trail  beneath  their 

pediment. 

XXVI. 

At  their  base,  a  sire  with  thin  locks  gray  from  many 

a  distant  year, 
Gazing  calmly  out  upon  us,  question'd  as  we  ven- 

tur'd  near  : 
"  Who  is  this  you  bring,  my  sister,  who  is  this  ?  ah 

yes,  I  trace 
Restless  eyes  and  flushing  cheeks  here  ;   yes,  ah 

yes,  an  earthly  face. " 
"  One  whose  aspiration,"  said  she,  "  as  I  rode  full 

high  at  eve, 


36  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Craved  for  light,  and  aided  hither,  would  not  now 

this  portal  leave." 
"Aspiration,"  quoth  he  mildly;  "many  a  bitter, 

bitter  woe 
Is  begot  by  aspiration.      There  are  easier  paths 

below. 
He  *s  the  happy  man  who  holds  his  head  not  higher 

than  his  home. 
'T  is  right  hard  to  stoop  forever.     But  I  keep  you 

from  the  dome." 

XXVII. 

For  this  dome  then  two  to  fit  me,  robed  me  quickly 

like  a  knight : 
And  they  whisper'd,  when  they  left  me, — "  Faith 

alone  can  find  the  light." 
Then  at  once  wide  doors  before  us  open'd  like  a 

dawning  day, 
And  disclos'd  a  hall  resplendent,  sweeping  through 

long  leagues  away. 
All  about  it  clouds  of  incense  floated,  fringed  with 

golden  haze, 
And  within  them  lamps,   half-hidden,   shone  like 

sparks  amid  a  blaze  ; 
While  huge  caryatic  figures,  carved  on  columns  tall 

and  white, 
Filed  far  off  like  phantom  sentries  guarding  thus  a 

phantom  rite. 


DREAMING.  37 

Through   the   clouds   that    parted   often,   loomed 

mysterious  choirs  anon, 
And  a  slow,  low  hymn  they  chanted,  surged  afar 

and  urged  us  on. 

XXVIII. 

Come  to  the  love  that  is  coming  now, 

Come  from  the  world  away  ; 
Come  to  the  source  of  joy,  and  bow, 

Bow  to  the  sweetest  sway. 
Find  but  love  for  the  heart  that  grieves, 
Love  for  the  work  one  never  leaves, 
Love  for  the  worth  that  work  achieves, 

Love  ;  and  woe  will  away. 

Come  to  the  truth  that  is  coming  now, 

Come  from  the  world  away  ; 
Come  to  the  source  of  right,  and  bow, 

Bow  to  the  wisest  sway. 
Find  in  the  way  where  all  is  light, 
Truth  to  impel  the  soul  aright, 
Truth  to  make  all  that  awaits  it  bright, 

Truth  ;  and  doubt  will  away. 

Come  to  love,  and  wherever  you  wend, 

All  true  life  is  begun. 
Ever  in  bliss  toward  which  you  tend, 

Joy  and  the  right  are  one. 
Love — and  the  heart  shall  warmer  glow  ; 
Love — and  the  mind  shall  brighter  grow ; 
Love  with  truth — and  the  soul  shall  go 

On  to  the  lasting  sun. 


38  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Come  to  the  truth,  and  come  as  you  may, 

All  of  love  is  begun. 
Whether  you  feel  or  think  your  way, 

Love  and  the  truth  are  one. 
Love  is  the  warmth,  and  truth  the  ray  ; 
Truth  is  the  light,  and  love  the  day  ; 
Come  to  either,  you  wend  your  way 

Under  the  lasting  sun. 

XXIX. 

As  the  anthem  ceas'd — ah,  music  of  such  import 

knows  no  death  : 
Evermore  its  tones  refresh  us,  like  a  draft  of  angel 

breath, — 
As  it  ceas'd,  I  sigh'd  aloud,  "  O  would  that  I  their 

light  could  share  !  " 
When,  behold,  high,  high   uplifted,  I   was   borne 

along  the  air, 
On  and  on,  with  slippery  speed,  far  sliding  still  to 

swifter  flight, 

Where  strode  by  us  tall,  white  columns,  like  gigan 
tic  ghosts  of  night ; 
Where  high  arches  fell  and  rose  up  like  an  ocean 

in  the  sky, 
And  bright  lamps  like  lines  of  lightning  on  the 

clouded  wall  flew  by. 
Then  more  steadfast  came  a  splendor,  and,  amid 

the  burning  air, 


DREAMING.  39 

Checks  that  gently  stay'd  our  progress,  in  a  domed 
rotunda  there. 

XXX. 

Broad  this  was  and  high,  heaved  heedless  of  that 
lavish'd  wealth  of  space, 

As  all  else  had  been, — a  marvel  even  in  that 
marvellous  place. 

Such  a  sight  creation's  dawning  might  have  seen, 
when  first  arose 

Morning  mists  to  end  the  night  of  an  eternity's  re 
pose. 

All  the  pavement  gleam'd  as  bright  as  could  that 
first  chaotic  sea, 

When  it  floated  all  the  germs  of  all  the  beauty  yet 
to  be. 

And  the  shafts  that  held  the  dome,  and  might  have 
held  in  half  the  skies, 

Rose  with  lines  of  earthly  grace,  but  wondrous  in 
their  hues  and  size. 

Far  above,  their  hazy  flutings  burst  in  blazing 
capitals, 

Where  amid  encircling  glory  hovered  hosts  of 
terminals. 

Did  they  live  or  not,  I  knew  not,  but  to  my  con 
fused  suspense 

Their  high  distance  made  them  holy  ;  and  I  bow'd 
in  reverence. 


4O  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXXI. 

Underneath   the    dome's   great    centre   loom'd  a 

mighty  throne,  it  seem'd  ; 
But  with  outlines  indistinct,  for  back  of  glowing 

clouds  they  gleam'd. 
And  the  clouds  were  smoke  that  hover'd  over  fires 

that  brightly  shone 
On  a  vast  white  altar,  built  before  and  round  about 

the  throne. 
From  the  pavement  rose  the  altar,  as  from  waves 

a  coral  reef ; 
But  through  lifting  smoke  its  front  show'd  figures 

carved  in  deep  relief. 
One  by  one   the   smoke   would   leave   these,  and 

appear'd  revealing  so, 
Through  successive  scenes,  a  tale  of  which  my  soul 

had  need  to  know. 
On  the  scenes  my  gaze  I  fix'd  then. — In  the  first, 

there  met  my  eye 
Figures  of  a  youth,  and   angel  pointing  out   the 

headlands  high 
Of  a  land  of  peerless  grandeur  past  an  ocean  wide 

and  lone. 
In  the  next,  near  harbors  lured  the  youth  to  shores 

where  wrecks  were  strown. 
Next,  he  sail'd  o'er  rough  seas  bravely  ;  next,  did 

drift  becalm'd  awhile ; 


DREAMING.  41 

Next,  flew  on  where  fairest  breezes  blew  toward 

many  a  flowery  isle. 
Next,  great  clouds  were  sweeping  toward  him,  and 

his  frame  was  bent  with  fear  ; 
But  the  last  scene  show'd  a  port  with  heaven-high 

mounts  that  he  drew  near. 

XXXII. 

Whose  could  be  that  life   there   outlined  ? — so  I 

question'd,  till  the  fire, 

Blazing  on  the  altar,  led  me  to  appease  a  fresh  de 
sire. 
On  all  sides,  I  saw  about  me,  stretching  outward 

far  and  wide, 
Long,  deep  halls  that  radiated  from  the  dome  on 

every  side. 
All  the  halls  were  lined  with  statues,  white  robed, 

such  as  art  redeems 
From  the  fate  of  fellow-fancies,  when,   too  soon, 

they  die  in  dreams. 
All  the  halls  had  pictured  walls,  of  brightest  hues 

which,  far  away, 
Stream'd  like  oriflammes  of  dawn  before  a  march 

of  coming  day, 

XXXIII. 

Soon  I  heard  that  "  In  the  halls  and  on  the  walls  I 
gazed  at  then, 


42  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Art  in  finest  forms  had  outlined  all  the  ways  and 

works  of  men. 
Each  event  in  life  was  traced  there,  till  all  sank 

beneath  the  tomb ; 
Then,  beyond  it  and  above  it,  rested  past  the  reach 

of  gloom. 
All  the  halls  were  open  to  me.     If  I  wish'd  I  might 

select 
One  I  chose,  and  might  explore   it  ;    and,   when 

in  it  could  detect 
What  befell  the  man  whose  course  was  limner'd 

there,  when  earth  was  left, 
And  the  spirit  journey'd  onward,  of  its  worldly 

powers  bereft." — 
Hearing  this,  I  gazed  about  me,  and  resolved  that 

hall  to  test, 
Where  was  pictured  most  of  promise  for  pursuits 

that  seem'd  the  best. 

XXXIV. 

Thus  resolved,  I  found  one  soon,  in  which  were 
frescoed  on  the  walls, 

Wharves  and  ships  that  fill'd  a  harbor,  busy  streets, 
and  market-halls, 

Fruit-red  trees,  and  yellow  corn-fields,  open  mines 
that  gemm'd  a  land, 

And  a  gay-dress'd  throng  that  drove  through  wind 
ing  ways  to  mansions  grand. 


DREAMING.  43 

**  Truth's  position  aids    its    mission,"  thought   I; 

"  men  will  serve  his  voice 
Who   commands   what   most   they  treasure.      Let 

me  make  this  hall  my  choice. 
Now  to  find  what  wealth  will  bring  me  !  " — and  I 

turn'd  without  delay, 
Where,   at  first,   the    brilliance   dazed    me,   as    I 

met  it  down  the  way. 
But  the  hall  soon  fill'd  with  smoke,  and  then  the 

walls,  in  graver  hues, 
Loom'd  to  picture  but  the  ills  of  those  who  would 

their  wealth  misuse. 
Then,  as  yet  I  push'd  on  farther,  by  and  by,  all 

light  was  gone  ; 
And  a  sound  of  floods  drew  near  me  ;  no  one  could 

have  ventur'd  on. 
So  I  turn'd  and  sought  the  altar  ;  but,  alas,  I  sought 

it  long 
Ere  I  spied  its  light,  then  wonder'd  why  it  was  I 

went  so  wrong  ; — 
What  could  mean  the  gloom  and  terror  ? — asking 

which,  anon,  I  thought 
How  a  night  would  come,  at  last,  when  light  with 

wealth  could  not  be  bought 

XXXV. 

Then  I  found  another  hall,  and  watch'd  it  with  a 
beating  heart ! 


44  A   LIFE  IN~  SONG. 

For,  portray'd  upon  its  walls,  were  artists  famed 

in  every  art. 
And  about  them  had  been  pictured  works  of  chisel, 

brush,  and  pen, 
Fit  to  body  forth  the  thoughts  breathed  into  them 

by  Godlike  men. 
Here,  too,  far  and  near,  were  statues  ;   and  o'ei 

each  a  gem-set  crown 
Flash'd  with  light,  and  thousands  like  it  shone  the 

hall's  whole  distance  down. 
"This,"  thought  I,  "  is  what  was  wanting  ;  why  was 

I  so  dull  before  ? 
Here  the  way  is  all  illumin'd,"  and  I  enter'd,  awed 

no  more. 
Lighted  onward  by  the  crowns,  my  spell-bound  soul 

had  lost  its  fears, 
While  the  thought  of  scenes  I  saw  there  bore  me 

past  my  mortal  years. 
My  works,    too,   seem'd   not   forgotten  ;    past   my 

death  they  linger'd  still, 
Thron'd  a  living  recollection,  sceptr'd  o'er  a  living 

will. 

Ah,  do  not  deny  the  soul  its  hopes  of  immortality  ; 
Where  did  ever  noblest  living  seek  a  lesser  destiny  ? — 
But,  while  thus  enrapt  in  revery,  scenes  about  me 

lost  their  light, 
Introducing  dusk  to  darkness,  dodging  doubt  to 

crawling  night 


DREAMING.  45 

And  again  cold  mists  were  round  me,  while  the 

unseen  water's  roar 
Fiercely  rose  again  to  drive  me  toward  the  dome  I 

sought  once  more. 
"  Ah,"  sighed  I  "  those  jewell'd  crowns  are  void  of 

all  that  made  them  bright, 
As  the  moon  would  be,  if  sunlight  could  not  reach 

that  orb  of  night. 
All  the  radiance  that  has  left  them  from  the  far 

bright  altar  came  ; 
When  't  is  hid,  no  art  can  ever  make  them  kindle 

into  flame." 

XXXVI. 

Now,  when  I  had  reach'd  the  altar,  I  remained  a 

while  in  doubt, 
Sworn  to  try  no  other  hall  that  I  had  not  thought 

long  about. 
But,   in   one,   some   bright-robed    artists    linger'd 

painting  deftly  still, 
And  it  seem'd  less  lonely  here,  where   their   fair 

forms  the  hall  did  fill. 

So  I  paus'd  where  one  was  picturing  waters  to  re 
flect  like  dreams 
White-draped  clouds,  on  hill-sides,  tending  slender 

wants  of  suckling  streams. 
Flowers   were   bending  by  the  waters,  grown  in 

fields  of  varied  green 


46  A   LIFE   IN  SONG. 

Stretching    off    toward    heaven-hued    mountains, 

which  some  shroud-like  mists  would  screen  ; 
Then,  where  summer  fields  appear'd  to  melt  to 

yield  their  golden  grain, 
Boys   came   bounding   from   a   school-house,   out 

toward  men  who  reap'd  a  plain. 
Toward  the  reapers  roll'd  a  carriage.     They  were 

but  in  laboring  guise 
Yet  the  lordliest  came  to  greet  them  ;  and  respect 

was  in  his  eyes. 
"  Here  where  nature  rules  and  gives  its  due  to  all 

humanity, 
Here  must  be   the  land,"  I   thought,  "  of  all   the 

dearest  prophecy. 
His  way  surely  ends  in  brightness,  who  is  ruled  in 

every  plan 
By  a  love  like  God's,  not  slighting  one  whom  God 

has  made  a  man." 

So  I  tried   this  hall ;  but  shortly  I  had  all  its  work 
ers  pass'd  ; 
And  I  found  myself  with  shadows,  which  by  slow 

degrees  were  cast 
Over  all  the  walls,  now  picturing  not  pure  love  but 

low-aim'd  zeal, 
Making  men,  who  strove  for  right  amid  a  storm  of 

lead  and  steel, 
Lose  their  rights  in  flame  and  smoke  ;  and  when,  at 

last,  this  fill'd  the  wall, 


DREAMING.  47 

Naught  was  left  me,  once  again,  but  back  through 

pall-like  gloom  to  crawl. 
Ah,  the  depth  of  my  despair  now  !     Could  one  hall 

be  wholly  bright  ? — 
"  Nay,  not  so,"  I  thought,  "  if  even  love  can  lure 

the  soul  from  light." 

XXXVII. 

Yet,  at  last,  my  heart,  still  anxious,  bade  me  one 

more  effort  make. 

But,  ere  that,  I  sought  the  altar  ;  and,  when  cour 
age  dared,  I  spake, 
Faintly  asking  one  who  walked  there,  "Is not  some 

hall  wholly  bright?" 
"Yes,"  he  said,  "and  they  who  find  it,  nevermore 

can  lose  the  light." 
Then  I  thought,  if  there  be  only,  anywhere,  a  single 

choice, 
Fit  to  bless  me,  could  the  blessing  come  from  one 

with  sweeter  voice? 
And  I  whisper'd  :  "  O,  good  spirit,  tho'  my  endless 

home  this  be, 
Only  breathe  one  word  to  aid  me,  I  will  ever  serve 

but  thee." 

XXXVIII. 

He  replied  then  ;  "Are  you  kneeling ? — well  for 
those  who  kneel  in  youth. 


48  A   LIFE  IN-  SONG. 

Self-reliance  tends  to  failure,  even  where  it  starts 

with  truth. 
Yet  hope  not  for  gleams    of  wisdom  lighting  all 

life  holds  in  store. 
Finite   souls  must  journey   onward,  learning  ever 

more  and  more. 
Only  signals  can  be  given  ;  look  to  these  ;  and,  by 

and  by, 
Through  the  pure  white  air  beyond  you  grander 

views  will  greet  the  eye." 

xxxix. 

As  he  spoke,  one  near  the  altar,  at  a  hint  of  his 

desire, 
Brought  a  ring,  wherein,  like   gems,  were  sparks 

that  held  the  altar's  fire. 
On  my  finger  then  he  placed  it,  saying :  "  All  things 

are  your  own. 
Choose  the  hall  that  seems  the  brightest ;  choose, 

as  all  men  must — alone." 
Near  me  then  the  hall   of  wealth   was,    which   I 

enter'd  ;  and  behold, 
Found   it,  to   its   utmost   limit,  shining  bright  as 

brightest  gold. 
And  the   pictures   far   within  it,  that   before  had 

seem'd  so  sad, 
In  the  darkness  had  deceived  me  :  they  were   now 

in  beauty  clad. 


DREAMING.  49 

And  the  floods  that  I  had  fear'd  so,  flow'd  around 

the  temple-side, 
Weird  and  grand  ;  and  grand,  across  them,  rose  a 

land  beyond  their  tide. 
And  the  other  halls  ? — their  story  was  the  same. — 

Ah  me  !  how  strange  ! — 
How  the  lights  we  carry  with  us  make  the  scenes 

about  us  change ! 

XL. 

After  this,  when  turning  backward  toward  the  cen 
tral  dome  once  more, 

Forms  of  glory  gather'd  round  me,  thousands  there 
not  seen  before. 

Bright  they  were  to  indistinctness,  and  bright  robes 
they  brought  for  me, 

Where  within  the  folds  were  jewels  it  might  blind  a 
man  to  see. 

And  my  whole  soul  felt  the  nearness  of  the  love 
these  friends  confess'd, 

Where  no  end  of  welcome  check'd  the  full  com 
munion  of  the  blest. 

And,  anon,  I  found  me  joining  in  their  joy  that 
watch'd  the  sight 

Seen  in  stars  where  souls  in  bondage  sought  for 
freedom,  love,  and  light. 

Then,  as  one  star  rose,  there  rose  this  chant  as  rare 
in  harmony 


5O  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

As   if  all  the  souls   that   sang,    had    melted    into 
melody. 

XLI. 

See  the  world  that  whirls  forever, 
Round  and  round  and  weary  never, 
Leaving  sinning,  glory  winning 

Through  its  ever  brightening  way. 
Oh,  in  worth  the  deeds  of  duty 
Rival  all  the  claims  of  beauty. 
Onward  world,  with  steadfast  spinning, 

Learn  to  turn  a  perfect  day. 

Work  cannot  go  wrong  for  aye. 

Woes  but  roll  to  roll  away. 

World  of  faith,  the  years  are  dying 
In  which  clouds  about  thee  lying 
Robe  a  wondrous  waste  of  sighing, 

Empty  throes  of  vain  unrest. 
Life,  if  right,  whatever  bearing, 
Still  for  true  success  preparing, 
Must  outwit  the  wrong's  ensnaring. 

Faith  will  find  that  faith  is  blest ; 

Wrestle  through  its  prayer  for  rest ; 

Dwell  with  good  a  constant  guest. 

World  of  hope,  the  stars  are  o'er  thee. 
Dawn  is  waiting  just  before  thee. 
Heaven's  own  light,  thy  life  invoking, 

Every  promise  bright  reveals. 
Fast  shall  rays  that  days  are  sending 
Heaven  and  earth  in  one  be  blending ; 


DREAMING.  5 1 

Showing  what  the  storm's  dark  cloaking, 
Tho"  with  rainbow  belt,  conceals. 
Night,  too,  blesses  him  who  feels 
'T  is  a  star  in  which  he  kneels. 

World  of  love,  the  heavens  above  thee 
Hold  the  clouds,  and  can  but  love  thee. 
Though  in  spring  the  storm  sweep  o'er  thee, 

April's  rain  is  autumn's  gain. 
Rock'd  by  wind  and  nursed  by  shower 
Life  will  grow  to  leaf  and  flower  ; 
Every  harvesting  before  thee, 

Shows  the  vintage  is  but  rain 

Turn'd  to  wine  the  grapes  obtain 

From  the  floods  that  fill  the  plain. 

Onward  world,  desponding  never, 
Round  and  round,  yet  onward  ever, 
On  where  sense  and  sorrow  sever, 

Onward  move  thy  mission  through. 
Wisest  deeds  thy  safety  highten. 
Wisest  words  thy  thoughts  enlighten. 
Wisest  views  thy  visions  brighten. 

Holy  wings  thy  way  pursue. 

Heavenly  outlines  loom  in  view. 

Bliss  is  dawning  down  the  blue. 

XLII. 

Round  and  round  me  rose  the  chorus,  like  a  flood 

to  cleanse  all  space. 
Far  on  high  its  waves  would  lift  me;  down  as  far 

would  fall  apace. 


52  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Then,  as  all  at  once  above  me,  bright  and  clea^, 

appear'd  the  sky, 
Wide  awake,  my  eyes,  in  opening,  found  those  dear 

delusions  fly. 
Gone  they  were  with  sleep  and  dreaming,  and  the 

star-gemmed  canopy 
Night  had  borne  beyond  the  west  ;  and  sworn  to 

ceaseless  constancy, 
Day  had  come,  his  fair  suite  with  him,  all  their 

armor  burnish'd  bright, 
Searching,  as  they  search  forever,  for  the  flying 

forms  of  night. 
"  Dawn  has  routed  all  my  dreaming  !  "  sigh'd  I,  as 

in  dew  and  rill, 
All  the  van  of  sunbeams  early  shot  reflections  from 

the  hill. 
"Yes  I  only  dream'd."   I  sigh'd;  and  then  I  roused 

myself  to  find 
Where  had  fled  the  phantom  feet  that   left   such 

sunny  tracks  behind. 

XLIII. 

All  had  vanish'd ;  but,  long  after,  left  like  footprints 

where  they  pass'd, 
Lo,  I  found  within  my  spirit  this  impression,  there 

to  last ; — 
That  for  him  who  hears  anon  by  day  or  night  the 

spirit's  call, 


DREAMING.  53 

Naught  is  fitting  save  to  be  and  do  and  speak  the 

truth  to  all. 
Let  the  world  refuse  to  heed  it, — he  at  least  is  not 

to  blame  ; 
For  the  truth  still  rules  his  action,  and  the  heavens 

direct  his  aim. 
Let  the  world  with  force  oppose  him, — he  may  lead 

a  worthy  life  ; 
And  his  words  may  prove  prophetic,  tho'  his  works 

insure  him  strife. 
Let  him  make  mistakes  in  methods, — who  can  learn 

these  till  he  tries  ? 
And  the  world  that  brings  him  failure,  makes  him 

fail  to  make  him  wise. 
He  alone  can  hope  to  prosper,  who  has  learned  to 

use  the  light, 
Ray  by  ray,  that  shows  the  spirit,  step  by  step,  the 

way  of  right ; — 
Only  he,  who,  when  his  dreaming  lures  him  toward 

ideals  rare, 
Wakes  to  gird  and  venture  on,  to  be,  to  do,  at  least 

to  dare. 


OTE   SECOND. 


The  reader   paused    and    said : 

"  The  daylight  fades, 
L*  And    many    times    must    fade, 

before  I  close 
My  work  here  for  the  poet  whom  we  mourn. 
Enough  for  one  day  that  our  souls  have  felt 
The  flood  of  fresh  suggestions  coursing  down 
From  this  first  poem  as  their  fountain-head. — • 
But  come  to-morrow  near  the  sunset-hour." 

So  on  the  morrow  near  the  sunset-hour 
The  people  gather'd  ;  and  the  soldier  read 
The  title  "  Daring."     "  Here  again,"  he  said, 
"  The  poet's  fancy  is  a  veil  for  facts, 
Through  which,  not  dimly,  those  who  knew  him  best 
May  trace  an  early,  rash  attempt  of  his 
To  match  his  dreams  of  doing  good  by  deeds. 
What  gave  these  deeds  direction,  was  the  aim, 
Which,  just  as  he  emerged  from  boyhood,  stirr'd 
Kind  men  through  all  the  region  where  he  dwelt 
54 


NOTE  SECOND.  55 

To  face  the  persecution  sure  to  come, 

And  band  together  that  their  words  and  deeds 

Might  free  the  friendless,  kidnapp'd  Afric  slaves, 

To  whom  our  nation,  ruled  by  selfish  greed, 

Denied  all  rights  of  body  or  of  soul. 

In  those  dark  times  of  fierce  dispute,  our  youth — 

Scarce  better  than  a  slave  himself — infused 

With  admiration  for  these  workers,  vow'd 

To  aid,  or  fit  himself  to  aid  their  work. 

And,  while  to  deeds  his  nature's  currents  rush'd, 

As  rills  to  streams,  all,  soon,  that  strove  to  check 

But  swell'd  their  tide.     His  pent-up  powers  burst 

forth, 

And  swept  all  patience  out  of  him  :  less  wild 
Had  been  a  war-steed,  stirr'd  by  blasts  that  bid 
To  onset.     Do  you  ask  with  what  result  ? 
Hear  then  this  poem.     Too  impetuous 
And  stormy  was  the  temper  of  the  youth  ; 
And  blustering  weather  blew  about  their  ears 
Who  cross'd  his  pathway,  like  November  winds 
That   shake   the  mad   red    leaves,   turn   pale   the 

flowers, 

But  leave  the  vales  as  barren  as  a  waste. 
His  deeds  wrought  little.     He  intended  well ; 
But  good  intentions,  if  they  be  not  mail'd 
In  prudence  and  well  train'd  in  self-control, 
Are  no  more  fitted  to  contend  with  wrong 
Than  half-stripp'd  serfs  with  steel-clad  veterans." 


A  R  I  N  G. 


Above  vague  moon-lit  forms  of 

mount  and  vale 
There  lies  the  haze-wrought 

mantle  of  the  night. 
The  winds  are  hush'd  ;    the  clouds  are  still  and 

pale  ; 

The  stars  like  drowsy  eyes  just  wink  their  light. 
Earth  sleeps,  except  where  on  the  seashore  white 
The  tumbled  waves  are  waked  by  distant  gales, 

Or  where  the  calls  of  owls  and  nighthawks  fright 
The  startled  slumberer  of  the  silent  dales 
With  sounds  they  never  make  till  night  their  plun 
dering  veils. 

II. 

But  hark  !   amid  the  stillness  now  a  tread 
Disturbs  the  dews  that  tremble  in  the  grass. 

What  form  impell'd  by  what  pursuing  dread, 
So  speeds  across  this  dark  and  drear  morass  ? — 
A  youth  it  is,  whose  eager  mien,  alas, 
56 


DARING.  57 

Bespeaks  an  aim  that  seems  beyond  his  years. 

Anon,  where  o'er  a  hill  his  path  will  pass, 
He  gazes  backward  ;  then,  tho'  naught  appears, 
Anon  renews  his  haste,  and  with  it,  too,  his  fears. 


in. 

He  flies  from  home  ;  nor  first  nor  last  is  he 

To  leave  his  friends  for  midnight's  chill  embrace  ; 
Nor  first  nor  last  is  he,  whom  dawn  shall  see 

A  wanderer  cheer'd  by  no  familiar  face. 

Ah,  homes  forsaken  thus,  can  aught  displace, 
In  after  years,  the  sadness  that  ye  wear 

For  mourners  who  the  childhood-love  retrace 
Of  those  thus  lost  whose  youth  appear'd  so  fair, 
Ere  storms  had  swept  away  hope's  buds  that  blos- 
som'd  there  ? 

IV. 

The  rose  that  with  the  fondest  care  we  tend, 

May  grace  a  bush  whose  briers  but  cause  distress, 
And  those  on  whom  we  most  of  love  expend 

Give  sorrow  in  return  for  our  caress  ; 

Yet  need  we  not  despair  of  their  success  ; 
For  oft,  where  others  would  move  on  no  more, 

Those  who  in  youth  these  headstrong  wills  pos 
sess, 


58  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Their  way  so  push  that  every  check,  in  store 
To  stop  the  weak,  becomes  for  them  an  opening 
door. 

v. 

But  think  not  headstrong  aims  alone  impell'd 
The  course  of  him  now  borne  along  this  plain. 

Against  harsh  treatment  had  his  will  rebell'd  ; 
And  so  he  thought  that  he  but  strove  to  gain 
His  rights,  long  sought  through  other  means  in 
vain. 

And  yet  what  were  these  rights,  he  hardly  knew. 
He  merely  felt  an  impulse  to  attain 

A  life  where  each  could  freely  seek  the  true, 

And  in  the  world  do  all  the  good  a  man  should 
do. 


VI. 


Times  were,  when,  arguing  his  projected  schemes, 
He  might  have  told  you,  souls  had  need  of  light; 

He  might  have  told  you  of  desires  and  dreams, 
All  vague  enough  to  make  you  deem  them  right, 
Who  strove  to  hold  in  check  his  ardor's  might. 

But  heaven  of  late  had  sent  what  roused  his  thought 
And  routed  vagueness  as  the  day  the  night, 

And  oft  would  show,  with  endless  blessings  fraught, 

A  brightest  goal  and  paths  through  which  it  might 
be  sought. 


DARING.  59 

VII. 
That  dawn  which  brings  the  light  of  coming  years 

Had  blest  his  native  land  with  liberty  ; 
And  through  its  Northern  borders  all  were  peers  ; 

But,  southward,  one  race  held  supremacy, 

And  one,  as  yet,  was  held  in  slavery. 
A  wrong  was  this  that  many  more  wrongs  brought; 

For  man  is  man,  whate'er  his  ancestry  ; 
And  in  a  land  where  speech  is  free  as  thought 
Whoe'er  do  wrong,  erelong,  will   find   their   ruin 
wrought. 

VIII. 

So  in  this  land,  a  call  to  free  the  slave 

Had  sprung  to  some  few  lips,  and  fill'd  the  air. 
And  when  our  youth  had  heard  the  call,  it  gave 

Direction  to  his  hopes  enlisted  there. 

And  now  his  life  seem'd  pressing  on  to  share 
The  fate  of  those — as  yet  despised  and  curst — 

Brave  souls  who  in  dark  times  had  turn'd  them 

where 

The  light  of  coming  good  on  earth  should  burst ; 
Nor  knew  't   would  gild   themselves  with   all  its 
glory  first. 

IX. 

The  youth,  scarce  heeding  where  he  was  or  went, 

Moved  wildly  on  as  thoughts  that  moved  his  will; 
As  if,  within  the  present  strength  he  spent, 


60  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Unfolding  wings  his  earth-wrapt  soul  did  thrill. 

At  last,  he  paused  upon  a  higher  hill ; 
And,  looking  downward  through  a  moon-lit  dell, 

Like  one  entranced,  he  stood  a  moment  still ; 
And  then  his  welling  feelings  broke  their  spell, 
And  utter'd  forth  this  fond  and  passionate  farewell: 


"  You  hills,  and  vales,  and  streams,  and  woods,  and 
lawns, 

You  never,  never,  never  seem'd  so  dear. 
What  beauty  shall  be  yours  when  morning  dawns  ! 

But  I  who  love  you  so  shall  not  be  here. 

Yet  still  the  hopes,  if  I  be  far  or  near, 
Which  you  alone  were  told,  shall  stay  with  me. 

Would  man  had  lent  to  them  a  willing  ear  ! 
Ah,  then,  how  fill'd  with  joy  my  life  might  be, 
For  I  had  had  no  need  of  flying  to  be  free." — 

XI. 

You  ask  me  now,  why  I,  who  write  here,  seek 

My  mirror  for  my  face  that  gazes  down  ? — 
This  face  was  his,  who,  spurr'd  by  fancy's  freak, 

O'erleapt  the  limits  of  his  native  town. 

But  his  eyes  then  were  fields  for  fancy's  clown, 
Not  homes  like  these  wherein  sad  memories  rest ; 

Nor  smiles  were  his,  all  check'd  by  Fortune's 
frown ; 


DARING.  6l 

Nor  did  white  locks  about  his  brow  attest 
How  rays  of  ghost-land's  light  had  touch 'd  its  com 
ing  guest. 

XII. 

A  few  short  years,  how  soon  their  sun  and  storm 
And  shifting  seasons  change  one's  face  and  frame; 

And  what  one  vaguely  deems  himself,  transform 
To  that  which  friend  and  foe  alike  disclaim: 
How  calm  the  heart,  which  once  those  calls  to 
fame 

Thrill'd  through  like  beatings  of  a  signal  drum  ! 
Those  throbs,  by  turns,  of  hope  and  fear,  how 
tame  ! — 

Familiar  ticks  of  life's  old  pendulum, 

Wound  up  to  vibrate  on  till  hope  and  fear  are  dumb. 

XIII. 

A  few  short  leagues,  and,  calm  and  sluggish  grown, 

The  fickle  brook  has  left  the  mountain  steep  ; 
And  now,  no  more  in  boisterous  torrents  thrown, 

Through  fertile  fields,  flows  noiseless,  broad,  and 
deep, 

Alive  with  sails  and  lined  with  those  who  reap. 
So  may  our  lives,  altho'  no  more  allied 

To  narrow  rock-bound  brooks  that  wildly  leap, 
Send  forth  an  influence  no  less  grand  and  wide, 
Because  a  gentler  motion  moves  its  growing  tide. 


62  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XIV. 

The  boy — to  speak  of  him  and  term  him  "  I," 
Would  break  the  spells  of  strangeness,  as  I  write, 

Which  make  these  life-scenes  that  behind  me  lie 
So  sacred  that  their  shadows  all  seem  slight, 
Or  only  render  dark  forms  near  them  bright, — 

The  boy  pass'd  on;  and,  just  as  dawn  began 
Erasing  all  the  stars  with  lines  of  light, 

Along  the  road  before  him  he  could  scan 

A  house,  and  barn,  and  fence,  on  which  there  lean'd 
a  man. 

xv. 

Brought  near  the  man,  he  finds  his  frame  is  bent, 

As  if  by  long  devotion  to  his  lands  ; 
His  arms  are  brown  with  heat  by  sunlight  sent 

To  turn  red-ripe  the  fruit  served  by  his  hands. 

His  chest  is  broad,  and  gratefully  expands 
To  feel  the  generous  air  his  health  renew, — 

A  master  of  his  house  and  farm  he  stands, 
Who,  fearing  no  man,  dares  to  all  be  true, 
With  open  eyes  and  lips  that  let  the  soul  speak 
through. 

XVI. 

He  saw  the  youth  ;  and  said,  the  while  there  flew 

From  off  his  questioning  lips  a  whistled  lay  : 
"  You  had  an  early  start,  to  bring  you  through 


DARING.  63 

A  marsh  like  that  by  this  time  in  the  day. 
And  those  who  tramp  for  hours  across  it,  say 
They  find  no  dwelling,  let  them  try  their  best. 
And  you  were  coming   east, — eh  ? — toward   the 

bay? 

So  could  not  wait  till  sunrise  reach'd  the  west ! — 
And  now — ay,  sit  you  here — or  in  the  house,  and 
rest. 

XVII. 

' '  Good  farm,'  you  say  ? — why  yes,  we  think  it  is. 

No  richer  land  in  all  the  State,  than  here  ! — 
Grows  grain  so  fast,  one  wellnigh  hears  it  whiz  ! — 

The  crops  are  somewhat  changed  about,  this  year  ; 

But  on  the  hill-side  lot,  beyond  that  steer, 
Where  now   those  buckwheat  buds   puff  out  like 
leaven, 

Last  fall  the  corn — I  swear  I  am  sincere — 
Grew  stalks  full  ten  feet  high,  instead  of  seven, 
As  if  to  beat  the  tree-tops  in  their  race  for  heaven. 

XVIII. 

"  'T  is  just   our  breakfast-hour  ;   but   spare  your 

dimes  : 
To   what  we  have — not    much — we  '11  welcome 

you." 
With  this,  both  sought  the  house  ;  and  there,  betimes, 


64  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

The  boy  had  given  his  genial  host  a  view, 

With  words  that  wellnigh  let  more  secrets  through, 

Of  all  those  aims  that  made  his  nature  brave, — 
His  wish  for  schooling,  and  intention,  too, 

To  help  to  loose  the  fetters  from  the  slave. 

But  thus  his  host  would  all  the  plans,  he  spoke  of, 
waive  : 

XIX. 

"  Uncommon  sense  is  nonsense,  boy.    Your  schools 

Are  good  for  some  ;  but  are  you  sure  their  drill 
Trains  men  for  work  ?    Fact  is,  these  thinking  tools, 

Are  hard  to  handle — have  too  much  self-will. 

They  need  more  meat,  than  mind.     Here,  let  me 

fill 
Your  plate  up? — No? — Be  dainty,  I  may  vow 

You    came   from   snobs,    and   may   present   my 

bill. 

These  ribs  came  off  as  fat  and  sleek  a  sow 
As  ever  warm'd  a  litter — There,  try  that  one  now. 

xx. 

"  '  All  men  should   learn  ?  ' — not  as  you  state   it, 

boy; 
All  men  should  learn  enough  to  make  them  work. 

Too  little  schooling  may  a  man  annoy  ; 

Too  much  may  make  him  lazy  as  a  Turk. — 
And  '  all  men  should  be  free  ? ' — Ay,  but  no  jerk 


DARING.  65 

Can  root  out  all  the  wrong  in  just  a  trice. 

Wherever  grain  can  ripen,  tares  must  lurk 
And  grow  till  harvest  come.     'T  was  Christ's  ad 
vice  : 
Impatience  cannot  force  the  fruits  of  Paradise. 

XXI. 

"  '  I  have/  you  think,  '  no  public  spirit  ? ' — No  ; 

But  private  spirit,  boy,  which  does  less  harm. 
Last  year,  some  city  folk  came  here  to  show 

How  wise  't  would  be — and  well    their  words 
could  charm — 

To  rip  a  rattling  railway  through  my  farm  ; 
Then  cut  it  up  in  town-lots  ;  just  as  tho' 

Against  a  pet  lamb  one  should  lift  his  arm, 
And  kill  and  quarter  it,  and  take  it  so 
To  market,  for  the  few  dead  coin  it  brought,  you 
know. 

XXII. 

"  And  so  I  told  the  strangers  they  must  face 

Men  who  would  fight  their  plan  for  many  a  year; 

Nor  wish'd  the  farm  and  farmyard  to  give  place 
To  park  and  palace  they  would  bring  us  here. 
Besides — old-fashion'd    folk    they    knew    were 
queer — 


66  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

We  scarcely  cared  to  pay  for  tripled  rents 

With  even  doubled  gains  ;  and  had  some  fear 
Our  girls,  whose   gowns   now  half  cocoon'd  theii 

sense, 
Might  burst  to  city-butterflies  at  our  expense. 

XXIII. 

"  Ay,  far  from  pining  after  city-life, 

Where  things  moved  not  so  slowly,  as  they  said, 
Our  folk  had  found  enough  of  stir  and  strife 

In  this  more  quiet  life  that  here  we  led. 

We  might  but  watch  the  seasons  as  they  sped  ; 
Yet  some  new  task  or  sport  gave  each  its  leven  ; 

And,  whether  suns  or  storms  were  overhead, 
Compared  with  city-air,  all  stench  and  Steven, 
Although   outside   their  world,   our   own    seem'd 
nearer  heaven. 

XXIV. 

"  To  this  they  said,  as  you  yourself  would  say, 
'  I  lack'd  in  public  spirit.'     May  be  so  ; 

And  yet  our  country  folk  all  thought  my  way. 
'T  was  public,  in  that  sense.    In  their  sense  ? — no  : 
My  own  wish  did  not  publicly  o'erflow 

My  neighbors'  wishes.     Yet  a  spring  may  be 

A  good  spring  that  makes  things  around  it  grow; 

Tho'  not  a  grand  spring  ;  no  ;  until,  bank-free, 

It  makes  a  public  swamp  the  whole  way  to  the  sea! 


DARING.  67 

XXV. 

"  What,  must  you  go  so  soon  ?     Nay,  nay,  but  rest. 

Brows  always  knit  grow  wrinkled  in  their  prime. 

You  '  must  go '  ? — then   good-by,   and   stride  your 

best. — 

But  pardon  one  word  more,  my  boy  : — one  time, 
When  young,  I,  too,  saw  heights  I  thought  sub 
lime  ; 

And  tried  to  drive  toward  them  some  older  folk  ; 
But,  boy,  't  is  only  young  blood  cares  to  climb. 
Try  it  :  you  cannot  drive,  and  may  provoke 
Old   heads,   too  long  ago   grown   steady  to   life's 
yoke." 

xxvr. 

At  this,  the  youth  pass'd  out  along  the  road, 

His  eyes  bent  downward,  gazing  on  the  ground  ; 
Nor  did  he  once  look  back,  as  on  he  strode  ; 
Till,  far  away,  a  shaded  place  he  found, 
And  paused  to  rest  upon  a  wayside  mound. 
Then   bursting   tears   rain  'd    downward    o'er    his 

cheeks 
From  clouds  of   grief  in  which  his  brain  was 

bound. 
"Ah,  who  could  think,"  he  cried,  "that  one,  who 

seeks 

No  kindly  aims,   could  smile  so  kindly  when  he 
speaks  ? " 


68  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXVII. 
But  where  was  youth,  that  in  the  scales  had  cast 

His  hope  and  fear,  and  watch'd  them  balancing, 
Who  found  not  hope  outweigh  his  fear,  at  last  ? 

And  thus,  erelong,  from  grief  recovering, 

The  boy  grew  sure  that  time  would  changes  bring. 
And  other  souls  that  would  with  his  agree, 

This  farmer  even — 't  would  be  no  strange  thing — 
Might  wish  perhaps  the  self-same  good  as  he  ; 
But  did  not  understand  him  ;  no,  it  could  not  be. 

XXVIH. 
More  calmly  then  he  walk'd  ;  and  when,  at  noon, 

The  trees  drew  in  their  shade,  as  birds  their  wings, 
He  found  beneath  broad  oaks  a  grateful  boon, — 

Three  fair-faced  women  dining  near  some  springs. 

They  bade  him  rest  there  from  his  wanderings, 
And  share  their  meal ;  then,  baiting  for  his  thought, 

Threw  out  so  many  flattering,  gracious  things, 
That  every  secret  to  his  lips  it  brought. 
"  Ah,  here  were  souls,"  he  felt,  "  who  yearn 'd  for  all 
he  sought." 

XXIX. 

"  You  left  your  home  ?  " — they  cried,  "  How  grand  a 

flight !  " 

"  And  for  a  fancy  too  ? " — "Aha,  you  blush  !  " — 
M  Who  might  she  be  ?     Had  black  eyes,  eh  ? — or 

light  ?— 


DARING.  69 

Like  this  maid   here?"  —  "Not   strange  a  lad 

should  flush  ! — 
Where   could    he    elsewhere   find   fair   fruit    so 

lush  ?  "— 

"  And  he  shall  rest  with  us,  he  shall  !  "  one  said  ; — 
When,  touch'd  as  by  a  snake,  he  sprang  to  brush 
Her  fingers  from  his  neck,  and  free  his  head  ; 
Then,  pelted  well  with  laughter,  from  the  three  he 
fled. 

XXX. 

Escaped  from  them,  his  feet  approach'd  a  tow  n 

From  which  a  railway  stretch'd  invitingly  ; 
And  in  its  train  he  soon  had  sat  him  down. 

It  moved,  and  filled  his  mind  with  ecstasy. 

The  hum  recall'd  his  favorite  melody. 
The  trees  wheel'd  by  like  dancers  in  their  flight ; 

And,  as  they  whirl'd  with  mad  rapidity, 
Spell-bound,  he  slept  and  dream'd  all  wrought  for 

right, 

And  made   the  world  they  wrought  in,  beautiful 
and  bright. 

XXXI. 

Anon,  awaking,  he  could  hear  the  sound 
Of  vying  voices  from  a  seat  behind, 

And  saw  two  men  there,  as  he  turn'd  him  round. 
One  seem'd  all  eyes  of  that  swift  glancing  kind 
Which  hint  the  culprit,  whose  too  cautious  mind 


70  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

The  secrets  of  his  inner  self  would  shield. 

Low  views  of  others  and  himself  combined, 
Had  given  this  man  distrust,  not  all  conceal'd 

In  manners  taught  to  stay  what  should  not  be 
reveal'd. 

xxxn. 

Beside  him  sat  another,  all  whose  face 

Bore  marks  of  patience,  train'd  by  years  of  care. 
His  glasses,  lifted  oft  with  easy  grace, 

Great  coat,  large  pockets,  and  abundant  hair 

Marked  him — "physician,"  one  whose  calm,  wise 

air 
Can  bid  the  raging  fever  sink  to  rest ; 

And  turn  to  smiles  his  patients'  weary  stare, 
While  children  wonder  at  his  bottle-chest, 
And  how  a  still  pulse  tells  him  just  what  pill  is 
best. 

XXXIH. 

By  chance,  the  two  men,  as  they  sat,  spoke  now 
Of  one  well  known  and   honor'd  through   the 

land, 

To  whom  the  lad  had  learn'd,  long  since,  to  bow 
As  his  ideal  of  all  things  true  and  grand. 
"  Can  you  conceive  how  one  like  him  should 
band 


DARING.  /I 

With  those,"  the  first  said,  "  who  would  free  the 

slave  ? 

No  public  man  can  ever  hold  in  hand 
His  party's  reins,  till  wise  enough  to  waive 
His  own  ideals  for  ends  which  all  his  party  crave." 

xxxiv. 

The  other  said — to  skip  words  harsh  for  rhyme: — 
"  'T  was  all  quite  true  ;  a  ventricle  should  not 

Congest  an  auricle  :  there  was  a  time, 
Place,  ad  captandum  vulgus:  this  was  what, 
Hygien'd  all  influence:  ne'er  had  he  forgot 

His  diagnosis,  Medicinse  D., 
Not  D.  D. :  some  of  these  would  tell  a  sot, 

Half  dead,  the  truth,  and  wholly  kill  him;  he 

Would  lie  to  save  a  life — if  thus  his  doctor's  fee." 

xxxv. 

He  paused;  for  while  he  spoke,  the  boy's  wide  eyes 

Confronted  his  there,  like  an  opening  soul; 
Whereat  the  man  increased  their  deep  surprise 

By  asking  if  his  talk  seem'd  strange  or  droll. 

The  lad  first  blush'd;  then,  gaining  self-control, 
Confess'd  the  wonder  that  his  face  had  shown. 

He  said:  "  He  might  not  rightly  judge  the  whole 
That  he  had  heard;  but,  if  so,  had  to  own 
That  he  had  deem'd  it  sad,  more  this  than  strange 
alone." 


?2  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXXVI. 

The  two  men  smiled,  and,  drawn  to  trust  in  them, 

The  boy  was  led  with  ardor  to  proclaim 
His  reverence  for  the  man  they  would  condemn, 

In  terms  the  two  seem'd  pleased  to  hear  him 
frame, 

But,  as  he  spoke  full  long,  at  last  they  came 
To  view  his  tribute  like  some  long-drawn  jest, 

Not  pointed  till  cut  off.     He  mark'd  their  aim, 
And,  flushing  red,  pour'd  forth  what  well  express'd 
How  madly  hot  the  zeal  was  which  he  thus  con- 
fess'd. 

XXXVII. 

"  Had  not  I  seen,"  he  cried,  "  enough  to  know 

Your  slight  regard  for  me,  without  this  test  ? — 
No  need  to  laugh  your  mask  off  so,  to  show 
What  could,  without   the    showing,   have  been 

guess'd  ! 

Yes,  yes,  I  was  a  dupe,  I  own,  to  rest 
Content  to  trust  in  you  who  dared  to  spurn 

The  views   divine,   with   which  such  souls  are 

bless'd, 

As,  always  looking  up,  forget  to  earn 
Earth's  praise,  because  of  joy  in  heaven's  to  which 
they  turn." 


DARING.  73 

XXXVIII. 

His  quivering  lips  could  hold  no  further  word  ; 
Nor  was   there   need  :    the   two   soon    left   the 

train. 

Some  further  jest  of  theirs  was  all  he  heard ; 
And  then  was  left  alone  to  nurse  his  pain. 
These  men  knew  not  how  their  light  thrusts 

would  drain 
The  tears  like  life-blood  from  a  soul  so  faint ; 

Nor  thought  how  much  of  good  is  often  slain 
By  small,  sharp  shafts  of  wit,  without  restraint 
Shot  forth  in  sport,  and  lodged  where  one  hears  no 
complaint 

xxxix. 

Our  poor  boy  in  his  anguish  thought  of  home — 
Friends,  love,  truth,  slaves,  and  all  things, — who 
can  know 

Round  what  the  most  our  surging  fancies  foam 
When  depths  of  feeling  rise,  and  overflow, 
And  swamp  the  reason  in  their  floods  of  woe  ? 

Alas,  one  can  but  feel  (while  all  sweep  on, 

And,  flitting  through  their  mist-hung  midnight, 
show 

Grim  ghosts  of  buried  good  with  features  wan) 

Sensations  too  acute  for  thoughts  to  poise  upon. 


74  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XL. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  be  that  yonder  star 

Shines  now  on  those  I  love,"  so  mused  he  here: — 
"  Those  dear  old  faces  there  ! — how  dim  they  are  ! 

And  shall  they  nevermore  my  spirit  cheer  ? — 

Alas,  how  could  I  let,  without  a  tear, 
Mere  empty-handed  hope  outweigh  each  claim 

Of  friends  though  few,  who  made  my  whole  life 

dear  ? 

And  are  they  sad,  those  friends,  that  here  I  came  ? 
Or  do  they  miss  me  not  ?  or,  if  so,  but  to  blame  ? 

XLI. 

"  On  every  side,  I  see  some  stranger  smile, 
And  hear  anon  his  ringing  laughter  bound. 

I  heed  it,  as  within  some  chapel  aisle 

One  in  his  coffin  seal'd  might  hear  the  sound 
Of  his  own  burial  hymn,  when  it  had  drown'd 

His  last  faint  cry  of  '  murder  ! '     He  were  blest 
To  have  those  friends  his  final  woe  surround. 

But  who  would  mourn  for  me  ?  my  soul's  unrest 

The  very  grave  might  shrink  from,  as  a  worrying 
guest. 

XLII. 

"  I  read  a  tale,  once,  of  a  spar  that  bore 

A  ship-wreck'd  sailor  o'er  a  storm-swept  sea, 
Away  from  beacon-fires  upon  the  shore 


DARING.  75 

That  rose  and  fell  with  waves  that  sought  the  lee. 

So  here,  some  power,  that  will  not  let  me  be, 
But  bears  away  from  earth  my  reeling  brain, 

Seems  drifting,  far  from  love  and  life,  with  me  ; 
Yet  ever  fails  to  bring  the  final  pain, 
To    snap    each    straining    nerve,    and  burst   each 
swelling  vein. 

XLIII. 

"  But,  far  cold  World,  could  not  I  show  to  those 
Who,  pitying  my  desire,  would  venture  near, 

That  they  to  friends  yield  most,  whose  whole  love 

flows 

But  for  the  few  ? — Yet,  ah,  could  aught  appear 
Attractive  in  my  woe  to  draw  them  here  ?  " 

Thus  mused  our  boy,  too  young  as  yet  to  know 
How  youth  alone  to  human  love  is  dear, 

Before  warm  tides  of  life  in  veins  that  glow 

Have  lost  the  heat  and  hue  of  heaven  from  which 
they  flow. 

XLIV. 

The  train  had  stopt  ;   and  from  the  crowd  there 

came 

A  youth  who,  after  many  a  bow  and  smile 
To  friends  who  waved  their  hands,  and  call'd  his 

name, 


?6  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

With  swaying  gait  had  trod  the  car's  long  aisle, 
And  sat  in  silence  by  our  boy  awhile. 
Then,  when  the  train  dash'd  through  a  tunnel  near, 
"  A  blasted  bore  !  "  he  cried.    "  A  man  could  file 
His  ear-bone  off  and  less  confusion  hear. — 
But  you — what  ails  you,  man  ? — There  's  nothing 
here  to  fear. — 

XLV. 

"  Ah,  you  are  blue,  you  say  ? — The  skies  are  so — 
Not  gloomy  tho',  till  clouds  their  blueness  hide  ! — 

Then,  why  hide  yours  ? — Ay,  doff  the  hide  !    You 

know 

To  flay  a  folly  slays  it.     If  you  sigh'd 
Your  sigh  out  once,  it  to  the  winds  would  glide. 

Naught  like  an  airing  would  you  oust  a  moan  !  " 
And  rattling  on  thus  like  a  wag  defied, 

This  new  friend's  talk  had  such  an  old  friend's  tone 

That  soon  our  boy,  who  heard  it,  felt  no  more  alone. 

XLVI. 

Besides  he  had  no  secrets  now  to  hide. 

So  soon  had  shared  them   with   his  new-found 

friend  ; 
On  whom  his  woes  all  seem'd,  anon,  to  glide ; 

Would  God  our  older  cares  found  such  an  end  ! 

"  With  only  that  much  in  your  purse  to  spend, 


DARING.  fj 

You  started  out,"  he  heard,  "  to  free  the  slave  ? — 
Your  zeal,  at  least,  was  rich,  and  to  commend ; 
And  freedom  to  yourself,  at  least,  it  gave  : — 
When  free  from  him,  who  made  a  slave  of  you,  the 
knave  ! 

XLVII. 

"  Now  hear  you  this  :  I  serve  a  guardian  too — 
A  good  one  tho'  : — he  always  pays  my  bills. 

He  runs  a  school — a  school  were  well  for  you — 
And  edits  a  gazette  too,  which  he  fills 
By  talking  at  a  scribe,  whose  whole  frame  thrills — 

Not  always  tho',  electrified  with  joy — 
At  such  discharges  emptied  through  his  quills. 

This  guardian,  could  he  find  one,  would  employ 

A  scribe  in  place  of  me  he  talks  at  now,  my  boy. 

XLVIII. 

"  So  go  you  south  with  me  to  Baltimore, 
And  all  you  wish  is  there,  and  close  at  hand  ; 

Though,  as  for  freeing  slaves,  you  '11  think  that  o'er. 
In  our  right  merry  State  of  Maryland, 
No  Yankees  with  their  endless  reprimand 

Make  men  run  mad  with  isms  fit  to  wear 

Strait-jackets  !  we  their  notions  will  not  stand  ; 

Nor  them,  till  sure  they  do  not  come  to  bear 

Our  own  pet  slave-girls  off  for  their  free  love  up 
there." 


78  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XLIX. 

Our  youth  here  frown'd;  yet  felt  as  one  when  streams 

Upon  his  waking  eyes  the  morning  light 
That  swings  the  golden  goal-gates  of  his  dreams. 

Where  slaves  were,  could  he  live  ?  and  learn  to 
write  ? — 

It  distanced  hope  he  had  not  dared  excite. 
And,  as  it  thrills  him,  ah,  how  wrapt  he  bends 

To  catch  the  stories  told,  too  swift  of  flight, 
About  this  coming  home,  and  coming  friends, 
While  round  about  each  form  his  joy  a  halo  sends  ! 

L. 

He  hears  about  the  school :  "  the  queerest  set 
Earth  e'er  had  jarr'd  together  ;  down  from  Pool — 

The  pest  of  tutors,  but  the  students'  pet, 

Who  gain'd  more  discipline  than  all  the  school 
Through  working  hard  to  break  through  every 
rule — 

Way  down  to  Sims,  whose  jingling  pocket-toys 
Outweigh'd  his  brain,  a  fop  and  fawning  fool, 

Too  mean  to  join  in  other's  jokes  or  joys, 

The  gull  of  all  the  girls,  the  butt  of  all  the  boys." 

LI. 

He  heard  too  of  its  matron — "  sharp  and  slim — 

Whose  eyes  were  flintlocks,  and  whose  hair  of  hue 
To  fit  them  when  they  flash'd  ;  and  every  limb 


DARING.  79 

Stiff  as  a  gunstock.     At  each  boy  she  flew, 
As  if  they  all  were  cats  that  she  would  shoo 
From  her  choice  milk. — Ah,  't  would  be  soured  to 

dwell 

With  her  hot  temper! — Not  a  chum  she  knew, 
For  all  her  hints  of  news  that  she  might  tell, 
Who  found  out  all  folks  did,  and  not  one  doing 
well." 

LII. 

The  master  too  was  pictur'd — whom  our  boy^ 
When  soon  he  join'd  the  school,  soon  dared  to 
show 

His  very  heart  of  hearts.     E'en  now  his  joy 
Went  forth  to  meet  a  soul  he  yearn'd  for  so  : — 
"  A  man  who  loved  a  'yes,'  but  dared  say  *  no'  ; 

Strict,  yet  with  smiles  ;  and  gay  yet  earnest  too. 
They  said  his  life  had  weather'd  many  a  blow ; 

Still  was  it  staunch  :  when  gales  of  laughter  blew, 

To  hold  one's  own  with  him  was  more  than  most 
could  do." 

LIII. 

Some  men  there  are,  whose  moods,  on  fire  for  truth, 
Burn  like  that  bush  that  Moses,  one  time,  saw, 

And  never  lose  the  fresh,  fair  charms  of  youth. 
Their  souls  from  heaven  itself  their  ardor  draw, 
Nor  burn  according  to  an  earthly  law. 


80  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Their  zeal,  when  kindled,  kindles  joy  in  those 
Whom  worldly  heat  would  but  repel  or  awe ; 
Nor  ever  warps  the  soul  that  near  them  goes, 
But  by  its  warmth  allures  to  love  that  through  it 
glows. 

LIV. 

A  man  like  this  it  was,  with  judgment  sound 

And  kindly  heart,  to  whom  our  boy  was  brought : 
And  whom,  the  while  he  toil'd  for  truth,  he  found 

Prepared  to  aid  the  groundwork  of  his  thought. 

Hard  strove  the  youth,   aye  feeling,  while  he 

wrought, 
That  but  from  deep  foundations,  grand  in  size, 

Life-structures     rose    like   that   for    which    he 

sought ; 

And,  tho'  he  oft  would  think  this  ne'er  could  rise, 
Anon  in  visions  fair  he  saw  it  fill  the  skies. 

LV. 

And  now  he  lived  for  weeks  in  that  bright  land 
Where  youth  appears  in  endless  dawn  to  dwell  ; 

Where  skies  of  pearl  o'er  golden  clouds  expand  ; 
And  every  breeze  o'erflows  with  sweets  that  well 
From  warbling  birds,  and  burst  each  blossom's 
bell; 

Where  every  thorn  that  yet  shall  pave  one's  way 
Is  hung  with  dews  that  coming  joys  foretell ; 


DARING.  8 1 

And  all  the  glitter  of  the  opening  day 
Still  blinds  the  eye  to  all  that  else  might  cause  dis 
may. 

LVI. 

He  lived,  with  restless  eyes  and  merry  voice 
And  yielding  ways,  whose  yielding  gave   them 
grace, 

One  fond  of  friends,  who  yet  sought  oft  by  choice 
In  soulless  forms  to  find  a  spirit's  face, 
In  wordless  tones  a  subtle  thought  to  trace. 

For  this  the  youth  would  search  through  dust  and 

noise 
Queer  buildings,  or  the  bustling  populace  ; 

Or  wend,  where  on  the  green  some  crowd  enjoys 

A  firemen's  fight  to  quench  the  ardor  of  the  boys. 

LVII. 

Or,  tired  of  sounds  and  scenes  that  thus  one  meets, 
His  feet  would  turn,  and  wander  down  the  hill 

Along  the  shady  sides  of  grand  old  streets  : 

And  reach  the  wharves,  and  watch  the  water  still, 
Or  ships  about  it  sail'd  with  subtle  skill, 

Long  charm'd  he  knew  not  why  ;  and  there  would 

stay 
Till  sunset's  fire  his  glowing  heart  would  thrill, 

Whose  throbs  within  seem'd  felt  as  far  away 

As  bells'  whose  echoes  broke  like  breakers  round 
the  bay. 


82  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

LVIII. 

Again,  desires  that  spurr'd  his  eager  mind 

Would  dash  it  through  the  lines  of  some  chance 

book, 

Much  thought  to  seize,  and  much  to  leave  behind. 
Alas,  how  many  truths  did  he  o'erlook  ! 
How  many  rich-robed  lies  for  guides  he  took  ! 
How  dazed  grew  hope,  that  follow'd  in  the  track 
Of  forms  that  vanished  !      Conscience,  how  it 

shook, 

Charged  by  each  innuendo's  base  attack, 
Smooth-tongued  as  knaves  are  when  they  stab  be 
hind  one's  back  ! 

LIX. 

But  books  brought  good  with  bad.    At  last,  he 

learn'd 

How  faith  reacts  on  doubt ;  if  truth  be  sought, 
How   most   for  those  who  most  have  ask'd   and 

yearn'd 

Ring  echoes  from  the  boundary  walls  of  thought. 
But  deem  not  moods  nor  books  were  all  that 

taught 
His  growing  nature.     There  were  friends  to  read, 

With  whom  he  banter'd,  argued,  pleaded,  fought; 
But  soon  forgot  the  passion  he  had  freed, 
Half  doubting  if  the  strife  had  been  in  dream  or 
deed. 


DARING.  83 

LX. 

But,  more  than  all,  the  woes  of  slavery 
Impell'd  him  on,  as  often  wrong  as  right, 

To  plan  and  work  for  all  men's  liberty ; 
And  while  he  longed  to  champion  this  fight, 
His  life  appear'd  a  tourney,  he  a  knight. 

A  young  Don  Quixote,  most  on  guard  to  dare, 
He  harm'd  more  good,  through  zeal  in  need  of 
light, 

Than  any  wrong  his  efforts  could  impair  ; 

And  fill'd  with  dust  the  way  just  where  all  needed 
air. 


LXI. 


For,  then  and  there,  what  was  it  save  a  crime, 
To  aim  one  blow  at  what,  as  all  men  knew, 
Upheld  the  social  structures  of  the  time  ? — 
A  crime  against  both  wealth  and  custom  too  ? 
And  where  all   Northerners    waked  suspicions, 

who 

But  gazed  upon  the  slave  with  pitying  eyes  ; 
As  if  men  thought  these  eyes  were  heavens  of 

blue 

To  lure  the  slave  to  cloudless,  clear,  free  skies, 
How  could  this  youth  escape,  who  had  not  yet  grown 
wise  ? 


84  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

LXII. 

He  could  not.     And,  on  one  sweet  eve,  when  all 
His  earth-germ 'd  thought  had  bloom 'd  in  dreams 

most  bright, 

He  woke  to  watch  strange  shadows  cross  the  wall ; 
And,  glancing  up,  beheld  the  welcome  sight 
Of  two  who  oft  had  praised  him  for  the  might 
With  which  his  ardor  had  assail'd  the  wrong. 

But  now,  alas,  he  heard  them  both  make  light 
Of  all  they  once  had  praised  ;  and  lay  there  long, 
Until  his  love  grew  faint,  which  he  had  thought  so 
strong. 

LXIII. 

For  who  that  loves  can  think  a  human  heart 
Can  ever  lightly  lay  its  love  aside  ? — 

The  spirit's  life,  whose  gentle  thrills  impart 
Each  separate  ripple  of  the  power  supplied 
For  every  act,  can  aught  its  presence  hide  ? — 

Ah,  sooner  might  the  heaving  sea  attest 
Its  life,  without  the  movement  of  the  tide  ; 

And  sooner  might  the  sunlight  sink  to  rest, 

Nor  trail  the  sunset  hues  adown  the  glowing  west. 

LXIV. 

The  words  he  heard,  erelong,  were,  "  Did  you  know 

The  boy  was  off  again  to  see  the  slaves  ? " — 
"Aha,  found  Venus  a  brunette,  I  trow  !  " — 


DARING.  85 

"  Nay,  worse  than  that ! — A  lip,  like  his,  that 
braves 

Our  cuffs  by  cursing  slavery,  also  raves 
Of  it  to  them.     I  '11  track  him  ;  and  do  you  ; 

And  if  we  find  it  so,  then  nothing  saves 
This  bird,  that  fouls  our  nest  for  which  he  flew, 
But  flying  home  again,  with  tar  and  feathers  too." 

LXV. 

" '  My  friend/  you  thought  him  ? — Ah,  some  friends 

we  use 

Like  opiates,  when  our  spirits  are  alone, 
And  would  be  lonely,  could  not  these  amuse  " — 
"And  make  us  dream,"  chimed  in  the  other's 

tone, 
"Of    things    that    elsewise    hardly    would    be 

known  ! — 

A  dream  like  Joseph's,  of  the  stars  to  fall 
With  all  created  things  about  the  throne 
Of  one,  whose  dream  has  proved  the  spirit's  call, 
And  who,  some  day,  shall  rule  in  Egypt    o'er  us 
all." 

LXVI. 

Our  youth  knew  love  was  no  love,  that  loved  not 
What  made  his  life  worth  living.     So  he  cried  : 

"Rare  friends,  behind  one's  back  !   had  you  forgot 
Your  Joseph  lived  his  dreams  before  he  died  ? 


86  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  I  may  mine.     A  blockhead  may  take  pride 
In  never  dreaming.      Blocks  are  n't  made  for  it, — 

Live  not  in  clouds.    Yet  clouds  not  often  glide 
O'er  barren  soil ;  nor  rich  dreams  often  flit 
O'er  minds  too  poor  to  yield  the  deed  such  dreams 
will  fit." 

LXVII. 

Alas,  the  youth — how  vain  an  egotist 

He  seem'd  indeed,  to  trump  his  own  claim  so ! 

And  yet,  when  sworn  to  enter  honor's  list, 

Of  which  his  fellows  could  or  would  not  know, 
His  frank  soul  merely  thought  the  truth  to  show, 

But  he  had  stopt  at  words  ;  and  earth,  that  yells 
To  cheer  the  gold-laced  swaggerers,  who  but  go 

Unwhipt  before  their  trump  to  onset  swells, 

Will  stand  no  words  in  protest — better  cap-and- 
bells  ! 

LXVIII. 

The  youth  talk'd  raving  on,  till,  glancing  up, 

His  favorite  teacher's  coming  he  espied. 
Then  soon  the  froth  that  foam'd  o'er  reason's  cup, 

Dissolv'd  in  timid  tears,  flow'd  down  the  side. 

"  Alas,  and  could  I  help  myself  ?  "  he  cried  ; 
"  They  came   and   roused    me    rudely  from    my 
dreams  ; 

And  proved  pretended  friends,  who  could  deride 


DARING.  87 

And  drive  me  hence  for  having — not  low  schemes, 
But   aims   all  just   and   right,   no   matter  how  it 
seems." 

LXIX. 

"  My  boy,"  the  teacher  said,  "  our  nearest  friends, 

In  judging  us,  our  works,  not  wishes,  take, — 
Works  oft  as  far  from  what  the  soul  intends 

As  dreamland  from  the  life  to  which  we  wake. 

Full  oft  our  traits  that  temper  it  may  make 
Impure  the  coloring  of  our  purest  aim. 

So  need  we  caution,  and  for  truth's  own  sake  ; 
Lest  those  who  watch  love's  fire  within  us  flame 
Shall   doubt   if   it  from  love  or  something  baser 
came. 

LXX. 

"  Remember  Him,  that  once  men  sacrificed, 

But  now  rules  over  souls  in  every  land. 
The  world  had  long  His  gentle  spirit  prized, 

Ere  it  had  come  to  heed  His  each  command. 

Remember  Moses  : — with  his  mission  grand, 
His  meekness  was  the  trait  his  race  knew  best  ; 

Nor  can  our  restless  world  ere  understand 
How  one  can  lead  it  toward  a  promised  rest 
Whose  own  soul  has  not  yet  this  promis'd   boon 
possess'd. 


88  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

LXXI. 

"  A  seer  should  know  that  truth,  like  morn,  comes  on 

By  slow  degrees,  enlightening  every  sight ; 
And,  tho'  he  wake  the  world  it  dawns  upon, 

His  faith  should  wait  till  souls  can  see  the  light. 

'T  is  he  that  waves  his  own  torch  in  the  night 
Who  feels  that  he  must  force  on  men  its  glare ; 

And,  though,  ere  dawn,  it  seem  the  one  thing 

bright, 

If  taken  for  the  sun,  it  leads  men  where 
Their  leader's  oil  burns  out,  and  they  themselves 
despair. 

LXXII. 

"  So,  friend,"  he  went  on,  "  you  and  I  and  all, 

If  passion  suddenly  o'erflood  our  will, 
Should  just  as  quickly  our  quick  words  recall. 

Thus  love  may  seem  our  life's  controller  still. 

Bear  this  in  mind,  too  : — ere  above  earth's  ill 
Heaven's  light  of  freedom  dawns  on  all  mankind, 

You  scarce  can  lift  the  sun  by  human  skill ; 
Nor  toward  one  mount  it  gilds  draw  heart  or  mind 
By  lips  or  lives  through  which  no  love   can   be 
divined." 

LXXIII. 

Some  more  he  said  ;  then  left  our  boy  alone. 
'T  was  well  :  no  voice  could  now  recall  the  dart 


DARING.  89 

That,  tho'  without  intention,  had  been  thrown, 
To  wound  the  youth  within  his  inmost  heart. 

Why  should  he  mask  his  aims,  he  ask'd,  in  art  ? 
"  Nay,  nay  ;  God  knew  that  he  would  rather  die 
Than  live  a  life  from  all  life's  worth  apart." 

He  sought  once  more  his  bed,  awake  to  lie, 

Or  sadly  swoon  to  sleep,  as  fearful  dreams  went  by. 

LXXIV. 

And  then  he  woke,  half -crazed.  There  may  be  souis 

Can  lose,  and  not  lose  all  things  else  beside, 
What  seem  to  be  life's  only  worthy  goals. 
But  he  knew  not  enough  yet  to  confide 
In  good  unseen.     He  thought  how  he  had  tried 
To  seek  the  right,  and  caused  his  friends  but  pain, 

And  done  what  now  he  saw  he  could  not  hide, 
And  what  must  force  him  from  them.     Ah  !  't  was 

plain, 

He  could  no  longer  there  beneath  their  roof  re 
main. 

LXXV. 

And  so  he  rose  and  left  it,  tho'  the  night 

Already  shook  beneath  the  threatening  tread 

That  brought,  anon,  a  storm.     Oh,  fearful  sight, — 
That  black  car  of  the  thunderer  overhead  ! 
Those  fierce  bolts  flashing  down  their  track  of 
red, 


90  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  crashing  on  amid  the  shatter'd  sleet ! 

And  one  broad   elm,  like   Caesar,    stabb'd   and 

dead, 

Flung  up  its  robes  and  tumbled  at  his  feet, 
While  hoarse  winds  howl'd  about,  and  made  his  woe 
complete. 

LXXVI. 

But  not  once  turn'd  he  back,  until  the  bay, 

The  while  a  deafening  peal  of  thunder  came, 
Flash 'd  forth  before  him,  his  quick  feet  to  stay. 
But,  ere  it  check'd  them,  lo,  the  lightning's  flame 
Lit  up,  out  o'er  the  deep,  a  human  frame, 
Whose    outstretch'd    arm    sank    down    beneath    a 

wave. 

At  this,  forgetful  of  each  other  aim, 
The  youth  plung'd  through  the  deep — drew  forth  a 

slave — 

Who   curst  him  for   the  favor — had   he  sought  a 
grave  ? 

LXXVII. 

Nay,   freedom  !      Dragg'd  on  shore,  a  shot,  well 

aim'd, 
Brought  down  the  slave,  whose  piercing  shrieks 

cut  through 

The  fitful  surgings  of  the  storm,  and  maim'd 
The  sever'd   thunder.     Lamps  then  gleam'd  in 
view, 


DARING.  pi 

And  swift  police,  who  spied  but  to  pursue 
Our  youth,  whose  flight,  they  felt,  proved  guilt  and 

fear. 
Then  oh,  how  fast  through   lawn    and  lane  he 

flew, 

Till  all  were  still  again,  when,  drench'd  and  drear, 
He  hid  beneath  a  shed  to  wait  till  dawn  drew  near ! 

LXXVIII. 
At  last,  it  came.     Above  his  crimson  couch, 

The  sun  drew  back  the  curtains  of  the  east ; 
While  pale-grown  shades  began  in  vales  to  crouch, 
Or,  hurrying  westward,  leave  the  world  releast 
From  spells  that  long  had  silenced  man  and  beast. 
Then  winds,  arising,  shook  the  rustling  trees, 

As  if  they  said,  "  'T  is  time  your  rest  had  ceast "  ; 
And  birds  that  sang  soar'd  high,  as  if  to  seize 
The  last  of  flickering  stars,  blown  out  by  morning's 
breeze. 

LXXIX. 

Soon  o'er  the  hills  ascends  the  sun's  bright  crown  ; 

And,  richly  robed,  as  welcoming  thus  their  king, 

The  dew-deck'd  groves  and  bushes  bend  low  down 

Bright    limbs    o'erladen    with    rare    gems  they 

bring, — 

Rare  gifts,  borne  all  too  soon,  on  sunny  wing, 
Toward  clouds  that   in  the  blue  dome  o'er  them 
blaze. 


92  A   LIFE  IN"  SONG. 

Then  sounds  of  labor  join  with  bells  that  ring  ; 
And  one  more  dawn  has  heard  the  prayer  and  praise 
Of  those  who  past  it  see  the  day  of  all  the  days. 

LXXX. 

They  see  a  day,  where  heaven's  bright  grain  of  life 

Sprouts  in  the  last  black  death-urn  of  the  night, 
And  buds  of  peace  burst  through  the  thorns  of 
strife, 

And  souls  awake  to  praise  enduring  light. 

Ah,  even  now,  they  see,  with  earthly  sight, 
That  men  may  track  the  rain-storm  by  the  rose, 

And  make  the  wake  of  war  the  way  of  right, 
And  learn,  as  each  fresh  breath  of  morning  blows, 
How  sweet  and  fair  a  life  beneath   the  darknesf 
grows. 

LXXXI. 

So  might  our  youth  have  hail'd  this  morn  ;  but  he, 
For  whom  the  soft  winds  whisper'd  in  their  round, 

For  whom  the  brisk  birds  chirpt  their  calls  of  glee, 
For  whom  the  bright  sun  up  the  heavens  wound, 
And  all  the  world  of  work  awoke  to  sound, 

While  men  moved  gladly  and  the  children  leapt, — 
He,  dead  to  hope  and  happiness  profound, 

His  dreams  begun,  while  all  his  heavens  had  wept, — 

Upon  the  chill,  damp  ground,  through  all  the  dawn 
had  slept. 


OTE    THIRD. 


The  people  waited  till  another 

day, 

Then  met  their  genial  soldier- 
friend  again. 
"We  found  our  poet  all  alert  for  deeds," 
He  said,  ere  reading,  "  and  he  fail'd  in  these. 
We  now  shall  find  him,  like  a  storm-check'd  bark, 
Put  back  to  port  and  waiting. 

"  Many  weeks, 

As  his  own  lips  have  told  me,  from  the  night, 
When  he  forsook  that  Southern  teacher's  home, 
He  drifted  like  a  waif  from  town  to  town, 
Now  toiling  in  the  fields  ;  now  seeking  work 
From  door  to  door  of  shop  or  factory. 
Anon,  as  news-boy,  then  as  printer's  boy, 
Almost  a  slave  by  day,  a  thief  by  night, 
He  taught  himself  to  print,  and  gain'd  a  time 
Of  leisure,  when  he  read,  and  thought,  and  wrote. 
But  still  for  years  he  lived  in  misery, 
93 


94  ^   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Half  starving  both  in  body  and  in  soul. 

And  doubt   rose   round    his   growing    powers   of 

thought, 

Like  vapors  reeking  from  the  refuse  heap'd 
On  undevelop'd  germs  in  early  June. 
Perchance  his  manhood's  fruit  was  ripening  then, 
For  always  would  he  say,  and  always,  too, 
While  saying,  have  that  tremor  in  his  voice 
Which  seems  to  make  the  soul's  pulse  audible, 
That  even  in  those  times  of  woe  to  him, — 
E'en  through  his  daring,  since  he  meant  it  well,— 
The  soul  succeeded  though  his  projects  failed. 
He  lost  his  outward  end,  indeed,  but  gain'd 
An  inward  end  that,  for  his  youthful  years, 
Had  far  more  value.     But  I  weary  you. 
Who  hears  his  words  may  judge  them  for  himself." 


OUBTING. 


Fate    gave    me    feelings   all    my 

own, 
And  dreams  that  others  had  not 

known, 

And  forced  me  thus  to  dwell  alone  ; 
And  sad,  where  no  one  else  cared  aught 
For  what  I  was  or  wish'd,  I  wrought 
These  rhymes  to  bear  and  share  my  thought. 


ii. 

All  day,  as  printer's  drudge,  I  earn 

My  bed  and  board,  the  while  I  turn 

To  moulds  of  type  the  thoughts  that  burn 

In  other  minds  ;  but  in  my  own 

What  thoughts  may  burn  can  turn  alone 

To  ashes  that  away  are  thrown. 

At  night,  when  like  the  printed  sheet, 

I  bear  them  up  and  down  the  street, 

95 


96  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

None  there  my  records  care  to  greet. 

So,  past  where  street-lamps  light  the  walls, 

At  last,  through  dark  and  mouldering  halls 

My  form  a  tumbling  stairway  crawls  ; 

It  crawls,  until  I  reach  on  high 

My  attic-home,  in  which  I  try, 

Till  no  more  sounds  go  passing  by, 

And  others'  lamps  no  longer  burn, 

To  gain  the  skill  for  which  I  yearn, 

With  so  much  still  to  do  and  learn. 

I  strive  to  force  my  sweating  brain 

To  grow  me  truth,  but  till  in  vain 

A  soil  that  heaven  sends  only  rain. 

What  grows,  I  long  to  sow  again  ; 

But  who  can  tell  me  how  or  when 

One  gives  his  best  to  grateful  men  ? 

in. 

I  like  to  think  this  frame  of  mine 
Contains  a  spark  of  life  divine, 
Enkindled  there  with  some  design. 
I  oft  have  thought,  there  ought  to  be 
Some  light  to  glow  and  flow  from  me, 
And  show  what  all  men  long  to  see. 
And  oft  I  deem,  the  while  I  find 
Some  men  are  slaves  whom  others  bind, 
That  my  light  now  might  bless  my  kind, 


DOUBTING.  97 

Would  men  but  look  where  I  can  see 

How  all  could  thrive,  if  all  were  free. 

But  much  I  fear  that  few  can  lead 

The  world  to  wiser  wish  or  deed, 

Because  the  world  so  few  will  heed. 

The  men  who  scan  us,  as  a  class, 

Turn  always  toward  themselves,  alas, 

Their  magnifier's  largest  glass  ; 

And  small  and  far  seem  all  they  pass. 

There  may  be  some  ordaining  grace 

That  priest  and  prince  of  every  race 

Have  sought  through  mystic  lines  to  trace  ;— * 

A  something  back  of  sword  and  gown, 

Power  apostolic,  handed  down  : 

There  are  no  wise  men  to  the  clown  : 

The  royal  mind  in  tent  or  town 

To  loyal  genius  owes  its  crown. 

IV. 

Why  is  it,  all  men  hate  and  hound 
And  hunt  me  down,  if  by  a  sound 
I  hint  the  truth  my  soul  has  found  ? 
I  changed  my  city  :  't  was  no  use  ; 
E'en  here,  this  devil's  cur,  abuse, 
Is  ever  barking  at  my  heel, 
Provoking  sighs  I  should  conceal, 
And  making  all  my  reason  reel. 


98  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

To-day,  why  could  I  not  have  stood 
The  test  of  inward  hardihood, 
Content  to  know  my  aims  were  good  ? 
Why  did  I  meet  the  man  I  hate  ? 
Why  did  he  stand  there  with  his  mate, 
Smirk  at  me,  and  commiserate, 
And  anger  me  ? — Were  anger  wise, 
The  face  that  would  its  force  disguise 
Would  not  so  blush  to  feel  it  rise. 


v. 

More  sweet  than  heavenly  harps  are  hearts, 

When  love  her  low  throb  in  them  starts  ; 

More  sweet  than  sweetest  songs,  when  sung, 

Are  harmonies  of  deed  and  tongue 

Where  two  together  think  as  one. 

Alas,  and  what  have  my  moods  done 

To  part  me  so  from  all  my  brothers  ? — 

Yet  how  can  I  accord  with  others, 

When  all  the  strings  I  play,  though  nerves 

That  every  feeblest  feeling  serves 

To  fill  with  thrills,  oft  bear  a  strain 

Of  stretching  fibres  wrench'd  with  pain 

That  wellnigh  snaps  them  all  in  twain, 

Ere  fitly  strung  to  sound  aright 

Some  highest  pitch  of  scorn  or  spite  ? 

No  wonder,  gentle  souls  will  say, 


DOUBTING.  99 

The  while  they  softly  shrink  away, 
And  learn  to  shun  me,  day  by  day, 
"  Far  better  than  a  friend  so  wild, 
His  rival,  wrong,  perchance,  but  mild." 

VI. 

Had  I,  who  know  that  slavery 
Fits  not  God's  heirs  of  liberty, — 
Had  I  but  more  self-confidence, 
The  men  who  give  me  such  offence 
Might  yield  my  thought  more  reverence. 
When  foes  are  sworn  to  cow  their  zeal, 
Those  who  would  do  good  work  should  feel 
That  none  can  rightly  make  right  kneel. 
Some  men  have  manners  dignified 
By  nature  ;  others  learn  to  stride ; 
But  others  yet,  with  no  less  pride, 
Can  never  show  what  will  not  screen 
And  keep  their  inner  worth  unseen. 
The  brute  that  shakes  at  these  his  mane, 
Lets  fly  his  hoof,  nor  minds  their  pain, 
If  only  whipp'd  from  his  disdain 
And  broken  once,  might  mind  the  rein. 

VII. 

O  could  some  Godlike  soul  look  through 
My  outward  life,  like  God,  and  view 


IOO  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  judge  my  soul,  with  judgment  true, 

By  what  I  am,  not  what  I  do  ; 

By  what  I  am,  not  where  I  stand, 

Which  souls  of  low,  short  sight  demand 

Before  they  dare  give  bow  or  hand ! 

Mean,  cowardly  souls,  whose  natures  feel 

That  they  were  born  to  cringe  and  kneel, 

And  heed  like  dogs  a  master's  heel, — 

They  show  a  due  respect  alone 

For  those  who  fill,  if  not  a  throne, 

At  least  a  station  o'er  their  own. 

So  must  one's  worth  that  these  despise 

Press  on  and  up,  until  it  rise 

And  reach  a  place  that  all  will  prize. 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  strain  each  power 

That  hints  of  effort.     Let  the  hour 

Of  sleep,  that  was,  watch  armor-clad  ; 

Calm  seem  a  pest ;  contentment  mad  ; 

And  slander'd  patience  onward  press 

Till  steadfast  force  achieve  success. 

Come  wounds  !  come  jeers  !  where  were  they  miss'd 

By  one  who  sought  the  noblest  list  ? 

Zeal  ne'er  did  sigh,  but  some  drone  hiss'd, 

"  Be  dunce  with  me,  or  egotist." 

Wise  world,  that  you  our  due  begrudge  us 

You  yet,  years  hence,  may  understand. 

If  we  work  out  the  good,  so  judge  us  ; 

If  ilL  time  then  to  use  your  brand  ! 


DOUBTING.  101 

VIII. 

How  sad,  when  thoughts,  proud  once  to  roam, 
Abused  and  bruised,  came  mourning  home 
With  their  young  ardor  overthrown, 
How  sad  is  life  that  lives  alone  ! 
There  was  a  time,  when,  brave  and  bare, 
The  little  hands,  all  soft  and  spare, 
Claspt  all,  and  hoped  that  love  was  there  ; 
Not  gloved  in  fear,  claspt  every  thing, 
With  every  rose  to  grasp  a  sting  ; 
Then  dropt  it,  sad  and  suffering. 
And  what  are  now  those  thoughts  about  ? 
Oh,  they  have  turn'd  from  deed  to  doubt : 
They  work  within,  if  not  without. 
Oh,  they  have  turn'd  from  all  the  pain 
That  came  from  earth  they  served  in  vain, 
To  that  still  world  within  the  brain, 
Where  fancy  forms  its  mead  and  main. 
There  many  a  fairest  vision,  sought 
In  clearer  light  than  sunlight  brought, 
Is  mirror'd  in  the  wells  of  thought. 
But  oh,  how  oft  must  one  surmise, 
While  o'er  the  soul's  wild  sea  of  sighs 
Imagination's  glories  rise, 
That,  as  at  sunset,  every  form 
Derives  its  best  from  cloud  and  storm ! 
Oft  fancy  works  but  to  appease 
A  restlessness  that  shows  disease, 


IO2  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

A  fever  that  the  brain  would  ease. 
Oft  crimson  floods  of  thought  impart 
Their  brilliant  hues  to  speech  and  art, 
When  thus  a  pierced  and  bleeding  heart 
Is  drain'd  in  drawing  forth  a  dart. 

IX. 

They  call  me  morbid — if  they  mean 
I  hate  the  wrong,  wherever  seen  ; 
And  make  supreme  my  own  ideal ; 
And  grieve  to  find  it  not  made  real ; 
I  hail  the  term.     No  titles  go 
From  earth  to  bias  heaven,  I  trow. 
Men's  normal  moods  may  sink  and  swell 
At  one  with  tides  that  drift  to  hell. 
E'en  what  the  world  calls  holiness, 
Which  ardent  youth  can  ne'er  possess, 
Is  oft — so  white  and  colorless — 
The  ashes  where  heaven's  fires  are  spent, 
Calm,  cold,  accurs'd,  and  yet  content. 

x. 

This  home  of  mine  is  in  a  place 
Where  dwell  alone  the  poor  and  base, 
And  I  partake  of  their  disgrace. 
But,  even  here,  some  good  I  find 
Awaits  a  watchful  patient  mind. 


DOUBTING.  IO3 

For,  where  our  wants  are  numerous, 
And  fashion's  robes  are  stripp'd  from  us, 
We  learn  of  human  nature  thus. 
On  earth,  't  is  but  "  the  few  "  can  find 
The  gold  that  gilds  the  sordid  mind 
And  common  dross  of  all  mankind. 
And  here  "  the  many  "  live,  and  so, 
Unable  to  afford  the  show, 
In  nature's  naked  truth  must  go. 
At  first,  I  shrank  from  life  so  mean  ; 
And  oft  would  blush  when  I  had  seen 
How  man  could  boast,  yet  be  unclean  ; 
But,  oh,  I  feel,  as  weeks  wear  on, 
Vice,  oft  unveil'd,  appears  not  wan, 
And  stings  of  sin  wear  blunt  anon  : 
One  learns  to  know  with  little  fear 
How  seldom  love  and  life  appear 
Full  wedded  in  this  lower  sphere. 

XI. 

At  times,  my  door  shakes  to  and  fro, 
And  voices  call,  until  I  go 
To  ask  within  some  drunken  foe — 
A  foe,  though  in  his  hand  he  bears 
A  draft  that,  if  I  quaff,  he  swears 
Shall  drown  beneath  it  all  my  cares. 
At  times,  there  comes  a  softer  voice 


104  *   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

That  vows  to  make  my  veins  rejoice  : — 
Ah,  they  know  not  his  better  choice, 
Who  with  ideals  for  his  friends 
Finds,  in  the  light  toward  which  he  wends, 
What  all  the  lure  of  wrong  transcends. 

XII. 

At  times,  when  wrapt  in  sleep  profound, 
Loud  cries  and  crashing  sound  around. 
Bewilder'd  then  from  bed  I  bound, 
Too  wise  to  speak,  yet  wild  to  call, 
I  wander  out,  explore  the  hall, 
Dodge  all  I  meet,  yet  dare  them  all. 
A  bird,  whose  wings  had  glanc'd  a  dart, 
Felt  not  more  flutterings  at  the  heart. 
I  linger,  till  in  fear  I  start, 
Lest,  if  my  cup  of  fear  I  fill, 
Insanity,  the  glee  of  ill, 
Shall  rave  upon  the  throne  of  will. 
Then,  when  I  turn  from  all  before, 
Swift  flies  from  under  me  the  floor, 
And  swift  with  bolts  I  bar  my  door, 
As  if  some  fiend  behind  me  ran 
To  scathe  the  spirit  and  the  man. 

XIII. 

Calm  sleep  to  weary  limbs  were  sweet : 
Who  cannot  sleep,  may  scan  the  street, 


DOUBTING.  105 

And  search  for  watchmen  in  their  beat  — 

Slow,  dusky  forms  with  echoing  feet. 

I  stretch  far  out  :  I  gaze  far  round  : 

'T  is  weird  to  hear  no  human  sound, 

And  be  so  high  above  the  ground. 

I  fancy  I  am  thrown  adown, 

Think  how  the  news  will  stir  the  town  : — 

"  A  youth  was  found  stone  dead,  they  say  "  ; 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  heard  ;  good-day,  good-day." 

Ho,  ho  !  what  now  ? — why  did  I  start 

And  slam,  with  such  a  beating  heart, 

The  sash,  yet  leave  the  blinds  apart  ? 

This  mirror  mocks  my  wild  grimace  ! — 

Men  differ  slightly  in  the  face  : 

And  how  might  mine  a  madman  grace  ? 

XIV. 

How  near  proud  reason's  realm  may  be 
That  fierce  Charybdis-craving  sea, 
That  drags  toward  madness  you  and  me  ! 
We  wander  toward  its  misty  strand  : 
There  swells  the  wave  ;  here  stops  the  land. 
How  bright  the  sea  !  how  dull  the  sand! 
"  Oh  Guardian  Sense,"  we  cry  "  away  ! " 
We  wade  the  surf  ;  we  feel  the  spray  ; 
We  leap  ! — and  God  prolongs  our  day. 
Ah,  Holy  Wisdom,  if  Thou  be 
The  Logos  from  the  Sacred  Three, 


106  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Who  all  men's  good  and  ill  decree  ; 

And  if  the  wise  above  us  dwell, 

The  unwise  then — but  who  can  tell  ?— 

May  madness  be  the  mood  of  hell, 

Where  God,  who  ruleth,  ruleth  well  ? 

If  it  be  true  that  death  translates 

To  other  spheres  the  self-same  traits 

Our  souls  acquire  in  earthly  states  ; 

If  it  be  true  that  after  death 

The  heat  of  some  accursed  breath 

Can  into  fever'd  action  fan 

All  lusts  that  once  inflamed  the  man, 

Till  life  grow  one  intense  desire, 

A  burning  in  a  quenchless  fire, 

A  worm  that  gnaws  and  cannot  die, 

Since  worldly  things  no  more  supply 

What  worldly  wishes  gratify, 

And  flesh  and  blood  no  more  remain 

To  make  a  fleshly  craving  sane  ; — 

If  then  the  passions,  anger'd  sore 

Because  indulged,  as  once,  no  more, 

Rise  up,  and  rave,  till  reason  swerve, 

And  lose  command  of  every  nerve, — 

What  state  can  anarchy  preserve  ? 

What  state  ? — O  Christ,  I  see  them  now — 

Those  teeth  that  gnash  ! — and  see  why  thou, 

To  save  our  souls  from  future  strife, 

Didst  cast  out  devils  in  this  life. 


DOUBTING.  IO7 

XV. 

Far  off,  I  hear  the  midnight  bell, 

And  watchman's  cry,  and,  like  a  knell, 

My  conscience  calls  :  "  For  heaven  or  hell, 

One  day  toward  death,  and  is  all  well  ?" 

Like  wrecks  that  up  and  down  are  toss'd, 

Till  plunged  beneath  the  waves  and  lost, 

How  aimlessly,  through  blame  and  praise, 

Through  depths  of  nights  and  heights  of  days. 

We  men  are  swept  along  our  ways  ! 

But  have  our  lives  no  nobler  state 

Than  drifting  on  with  tides  of  fate  ? — 

No  power  to  stem  them,  while  they  feel 

The  filling  sail,  the  whirling  wheel, 

The  steadfast  helm  that  guides  the  keel  ? 

Tho'  oft  our  course  be  turn'd  about 

By  wind  and  wave  of  hope  and  doubt, 

Come  all  our  motives  from  without  ? 

Does  not  some  impulse  oft  begin 

With  mind's  propelling  power  within  ? 

Is  not  the  soul,  whose  low  depths  thrill, 

An  offspring  of  perfection  still  ; 

And  Godlike  by  creative  will  ? 

And  yields  not  heaven  some  gleam  to  thought. 

Or  hope  by  spirit-whispers  brought, 

To  guide  toward  all  our  souls  have  sought  ? 

Ay,  ay  ;  do  not  clear  skies  reveal, 


IO8  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

At  times,  to  cheer  our  wavering  zeal, 
Bright  realms  that  mists  no  more  conceal  ? 

XVI. 

I  know  how  deep  and  dark  the  vale 

Where  some,  fair  fortune's  heights  to  scale, 

Equipp'd  with  sword  and  shield  and  mail, 

Have  found  the  power  to  wound  the  wrong, 

And  dash  aside  its  lances  long, 

And  press  between  its  yielding  throng  ; 

Till  all  else  wonder'd  at  the  fight 

Whose  brunts  had  made  their  mail  so  bright 

That  older  glory  shunn'd  its  light. 

Anon,  triumphant  o'er  the  wrong, 

And  thron'd  above  earth's  cheering  throng, 

As  chosen  chiefs  of  all  the  strong, 

Behold,  they  stand  where  honor  dwells, 

And  earth  with  pride  their  story  tells, 

Nor  envy  evermore  dispels 

Their  joy  that  swells  at  victory's  bells. 

XVII. 

Yes,  all  made  men  are  self-made  men  : 
We  ask  too  much  of  friendship  then  : 
The  soul's  best  impulse,  in  the  end, 
Is  evermore  the  soul's  best  friend. 
And  when  truth's  whispers  all  pertain 


DOUBTING.  109 

To  our  souls  only,  why  complain, 
Tho'  none  but  us  their  import  gain  ? 
Let  one,  who  honor  craves,  be  strong 
In  worth,  to  make  dishonor  wrong  : 
Or,  if  he  crave  a  sceptre,  find 
A  task  that  fits  a  sovereign  mind. 
Their  high  ambition,  do  not  doubt, 
Is  heaven-directed  and  devout, 
Who  strive,  to  plan,  and  then  work  out 
What  God  has  given  them  souls  to  will ; 
With  thankful  hearts  remembering  still 
That  shallow  depths  the  soonest  fill, 
And  endless  blessings  wait  in  store 
For  those  alone  who  long  for  more. 

XVIII. 

Where  so  much  good  is  yet  untried, 
Our  souls  must  all,  if  satisfied 
With  what  they  have  or  are,  abide 
Untaught,  unhonor'd,  and  unblest  ; 
For  but  to-day  what  is  is  best. 
The  morrow's  gain  is  all  possess'd 
By  those  who  journey  ere  they  rest. 
Yet  ne'er  at  daybreak  had  begun 
One  ray  a  shining  course  to  run 
But  snakes  crawl'd  out  to  hiss  the  sun  ; 
And  e'er,  if  truth  then  dawn'd  in  view, 


IIO  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Would  tongues,  whose  fangs  in  fury  flew, 

Cry  :  "  Who  have  seen  the  like  ?    Have  you  ? ' 

Ah  me  !  and  what,  forsooth,  is  new 

And  strange  to  men's  experience, 

'T  would  libel  all  their  own  past  sense 

For  them  to  treat  with  reverence  ! 

Oft  in  earth's  bigot-brotherhood 

The  fools  alone  are  understood, 

And  stupid  souls  alone  seem  good. 

But,  while  the  rest  are  dozing  late, 

The  genius,  quick  to  sight  his  fate, 

Will  wake  and  wish,  and  work,  and  wait, 

And  fix  his  aim  on  looming  schemes, 

Apart  from  those  that  earth  esteems, 

Else  would  he  mind  but  common  themes. 

We  are  not  always  curst,  when  born 

By  throes  of  nature's  freak  or  scorn 

With  moods  abnormal  and  forlorn  ; 

We  are  not  curst  ere  we  consent 

To  dam  our  own  development 

By  choking  down  our  discontent. 

If  truth  be  something  sought  and  learn'd, 

He  most  may  gain,  who  most  has  yearn'd 

To  fill  a  need  he  most  discern'd. 

Ay,  let  the  earth,  too  stern  but  just, 

Crush  all  our  pride  of  thought  to  dus*  : 

If  still  for  growth  in  truth  we  trust, 

While  faith  can  dare,  it  cannot  die. 


DOUBTING.  Ill 

With  facts  against  it,  't  will  espy 
Far  distant  lights  that  guide  its  eye, 
Snatch  hope  from  talons  of  despair, 
And  welcome  flight  with  fancies  fair. 
In  the  vague  light  of  ages  old 
The  poets  were  the  first  who  told 
The  truths  to  make  late  logic  bold. 

XIX. 

If  only  once  the  souls  that  climb 

So  slowly  up  this  mount  of  time, 

Could,  with  prophetic  vision  clear, 

See  views  that  from  its  peaks  appear  ; 

Then  gaze  below,  where  foul  mists  creep 

Along  black  waters  of  the  deep, 

Note  slippery  stones  that  trip  the  feet, 

Or  slide  beneath  the  indiscreet, 

How  closely  would  they  watch  and  tread 

The  narrow,  narrow  paths  ahead  ! 

And  then,  should  one  a  safe  way  trace 

O'er  some  supremely  dangerous  place, 

What  could  he  do  there  save  to  try, 

Tho"  plains  were  wide,  and  hills  were  high, 

To  make  those  heed  his  warning  cry, 

Who  in  the  paths  behind  him  moved  ? 

Though  means  he  chose  to  some  but  proved 

His  madness  and  his  meanness  both 


112  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Which  they  must  hound  with  many  an  oath  ; 
Though  he  were  kill'd  where  loom'd  the  danger, 
His  corpse  might  save  some  coming  stranger, 
Who  in  the  stare  of  death  could  trace 
The  aims  that  flush'd  his  living  face. 

xx. 

Woe  me,  I  boast,  but  cannot  be  ! 

A  poet  is  a  babe,  whose  plea 

Is  whined  in  words.     Alas  for  me, 

Can  screaming  scare  away  one's  pain  ? 

The  rattlings  of  a  restless  brain, 

What  good  did  ever  rhymes  obtain  ? 

What  is  there  good  on  earth  but  gold  ? 

Life's  bright  paths  hold  a  sordid  fold, — 

Hold  men  like  cattle  bought  and  sold, 

Who  treat  each  sky-born  child  of  truth 

As  valiantly  as  bulls,  forsooth, 

That  goar,  and  tramp,  and  leave  to  moan 

Sweet  children  caught  in  pastures  lone. 

Nay,  none  who  pass  his  protest  by 

Will  stop  to  heed  the  poet's  cry, 

Or  care  if  he  survive  or  die. 

None  aid,  or  deem  his  aim  sublime, 

For  only  those  who  try  to  climb 

And  reach  the  far-off  heights  of  rhyme, 

Can  know  their  distance.     Fast  flies  time  : 


DOUBTING.  113 

Too  hard  I  toil,  to  gain  but  bread  ; 
And  I  would  rather  far  be  dead 
Than  leave  my  life's  report  unsaid. 


XXI. 

How  many  men,  compared  to  me, 
Tho'  counted  slaves,  may  still  be  free  ? 
Those  yet  possess  heaven's  liberty, 
Whose  minds  are  not  in  slavery. 
But  ah,  what  hell-forged  fetters  rest 
Where  one's  own  conscience  must  attest 
He  would,  but  dare  not,  do  his  best, 
Because  his  lust  or  hunger  waives 
The  truth  that  but  the  spirit  saves ! 

xxn. 

The  truth  for  which  I  boast  I  care, — 
Who  knows  what  it  may  be,  or  where  ? 
Where  is  the  man  that  owns  the  truth  ? 
Do  I  ?  or  I  alone  forsooth, 
Who  scarcely  have  outgrown  my  youth  ? 
The  minds  that  think  I  err,  had  done 
Much  work  ere  mine  had  been  begun  : 
And  they  are  many  ;  I  am  one. 
If  they  and  I  thus  disagree, 
And  I  doubt  whether  truth  can  be 


114  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

In  what  seems  true  to  only  me, 
Humility  may  be  my  plea. 


XXIII. 

What  right  have  I  to  blame  the  earth 

When  I  have  woe  and  it  has  mirth  ? 

Its  throngs  around  me  feast  and  dance, 

And  all  their  joys  in  life  enhance 

With  friends,  who  prize  their  every  glance  ; 

While  I,  like  some  physician,  trying 

His  poisons  on  himself,  am  lying 

A  martyr  where  none  need  my  dying  ; 

But  scout  my  sick,  insane  idea, 

Too  well  to  test  my  panacea. 

Why  should  they  not  ?    A  man  of  sense 

Trusts  first  his  own  experience  ; 

Nor  waives  the  truth  he  draws  from  thence 

For  all  mankind's  experiments. 

But  I,  who  seek  the  good  of  earth, 

Do  I  concede  that  it  has  worth  ? 

Or  does  the  world  in  me  perceive 

That  which  can  make  it  long  to  leave 

Its  gains  behind,  and  mine  achieve  ? 

Nay,  let  me  seek  some  better  way. 

When  into  doubtful  paths  they  stray, 

The  wise  turn  back,  tho'  fools  may  stay, 

Consistent — but  that  title  lacks 


DOUBTING.  115 

One  word  to  make  it  fit  the  quacks, 
Where  wisdom  grows  and  change  attacks, 
Consistent — monomaniacs. 

XXIV. 

Grand  it  is  new  life  to  borrow  ; 
Like  a  spirit  dead  to  sorrow, 
Dead  to  all  earth's  dread  to-morrow, 
And  to  wake  in  realms  of  laughter, 
Free  from  grief  before  or  after. 
Hail  the  eye,  so  brightly  glancing. 
Hail  the  music,  and  the  dancing. 
Hail  the  feast,  and,  echoing  o'er  us, 
Hail  the  wine-brought  cheer  and  chorus. 
When  such  joyous  deeds  employ  us, 
Why  should  graver  thoughts  annoy  us  ? 

On  the  dance  ! — but  ah,  what  feeling 

O'er  the  soul  is  vaguely  stealing 

Through  the  blaze  and  buzz  and  wheeling  ? 

When  the  best  ideals  lure  one, 

Only  then  can  aught  assure  one 

That  his  motive  is  a  pure  one. 

Who  would  let  a  soul,  nor  fear  it, 

Be  embraced  with  no  love  near  it, 

Both  to  cherish  and  revere  it  ? 

Back  to  music  !     Ah,  to  use  it, 
Seems  all  holy  when  we  muse  it. 


Il6  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Surely  wrong  could  not  abuse  it  ! 
All  our  lives,  we  start  and  wonder, 
In  this  under  world,  what  blunder 
Woke  in  heaven  the  voice  of  thunder. 
Yet  it  peals  ;  and  oh,  how  sadly, 
Like  the  storms  that  gather  madly 
Over  days  that  dawn  so  gladly, 
Burst  on  heavenliest  harmonies 
Notes  from  where  no  music  is! 

Back  to  feasting  \     Ha,  they  cheer  it. 
Here  's  to  health  ! — they  do  not  hear  it  ? 
Here  's  to  health  ! — what,  dare  they  jeer  it  ? 
Lo,  they  tremble — Do  they  fear  it  ? 
Look — my  soul ! — a  man  has  tumbled  ; 
Shown  himself  a  beast,  and  humbled 
Man  and  God,  at  whom  he  grumbled. — 
Moans  a  wife  now  never  sleeping, 
Babes  that  her  thin  hands  are  keeping  : — 
Waits  a  grave  where  none  are  weeping. 

Back  from  earth  !     No,  fruit  is  in  it 
Fit  for  peeling.     Who  begin  it, 
Find  the  fruit  has  worms  within  it. — 
What,  my  soul,  does  good  decay  so  ? 
Let  me  lie  before  I  say  so  ! 
Heaven  would  let  the  devil  never 
Rile  clear  springs  that  gush  and  ever 
Thus  refresh  our  faint  endeavor. 


DOUBTING.  117 

Our  own  spirit,  when  too  near  it, 
Taints  the  good  that  comes  to  cheer  it : 
We  debase  until  we  fear  it, 
Joy  that  was  not  meant  to  curse  us, 
But  to  nerve  us  and  to  nurse  us. 
Oh,  for  right  to  re-imburse  us  ! 
And  the  day,  to  dawn  above  all, 
Where,  at  last,  we  all  can  love  all ! 

xxv. 

When  sad  from  self-satiety, 
Why  should  one  shun  society  ? — 
It  rouses  him  from  introspection, 
And  routs  his  dreams  of  drear  dejection. 
I  think,  as  pools,  whose  overflow 
Not  freely  off  through  earth  can  go, 
Will  breed  foul  mists,  that  reek  and  rise 
And  dim  the  earth  and  cloud  the  skies, 
Our  thoughts,  if  not  allow'd  to  flow 
Toward  others  freely — who  can  know  ?— 
With  vapory  whims  may  blear  the  mood, 
And  thus  deform  the  objects  view'd, 
And  half  the  light  of  life  exclude. 
An  eye,  made  dim,  may  facts  gainsay 
And  see,  in  fairest  forms  at  bay, 
But  lions  fierce  that  fill  the  way. 
When  dull  to  sounds,  a  man  may  fear 


Il8  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  take  the  rumbling  he  may  hear 
Within  his  own  disordered  ear 
For  footsteps  of  advancing  strife. 
Whate'er  we  seek  or  shun  in  life, 
Too  often  we  ourselves  conjure 
The  direst  foes  its  veils  obscure. 
Come  then,  my  soul,  and  open  wide 
Those  doors  that  keep  the  world  outside  ; 
And  welcome,  as  thine  own,  the  worth 
Of  sunlight,  beauty,  friendship,  mirth, 
Design'd  for  him  whose  home  is  earth. 

XXVI. 

Amid  the  traits  of  multitudes 

The  Maker  speaks  through  many  moods 

Of  truths  that  are  not  understood 

By  those  who  by  themselves  do  brood. 

And  better  be,  in  lone  despair, 

Some  king's  court  fool,  astride  a  chair, 

Who  dreams  he  rules  a  kingdom  there, 

With  stock-still  statues  his  hussars, 

And  scarfs  of  Knighthood,  but  the  scars 

Deep-whipt  across  his  bleeding  back, 

Than  be  a  man  whose  life  must  lack 

The  love  that  waits  on  friendship's  throne. 

For  all  our  worth  is  crown'd  alone, 

When  friends  have  made  our  cause  their  own. 


DOUBTING.  IIQ 

XXVII. 

What  power  on  earth  compares  with  love  ? 
It  rules  alone  in  heaven  above. 
But  love  in  heaven  is  always  just ; 
And  so  I  think  I  would  not  trust, 
But  fear  a  friend,  by  day  or  night, 
Whose  love  contain'd  no  love  of  right. 
The  world  is  wide,  and  wisdom  strange  ; 
To  find  it  one  must  freely  range  ; 
And,  when  from  this  to  that  we  change, 
We  lose  our  friend,  unless  his  mood 
Will  justly  weigh  our  former  good 
With  what  is  now  misunderstood, 
And  though  he  cannot  see  our  goals, 
Have  faith  enough  to  trust  our  souls, — 
Faith  man  as  well  as  God  demands 
From  every  soul  that  near  him  stands. 
Oft,  when  so  far  and  hid,  how  could 
We  point  our  goals  out,  if  we  would  ; 
Yet  then  we  like  to  be  thought  good  ! 
And  oft  there  comes  a  need  of  rest, 
No  strength  have  we  to  do  our  best ; 
And  then,  if  friends  yet  seek  a  test, 
Our  home  is  like  a  sick  bird's  nest, 
Whose  fellows'  beaks  all  pierce  his  breast. 
Strange  cure  ! — yet  't  is  an  old  complaint, 
That  much  of  love,  when  only  faint, 
They  peck  to  death  to  make  a  saint. 


120  A    LIFE  IK  SONG. 

XXVIII. 

Within  our  souls  is  much  of  yearning 
That  patient  thoughts  are  slowly  turning 
To  deepest  and  to  broadest  learning 
That  cannot  answer  back  a  "  why  ?  " 
Like  sailors,  when  they  watch  a  sky 
Where  fogs,  offscourings  of  the  sea, 
Becloud  their  sight,  so  often  we 
Must  guess  our  reckonings,  it  may  be. 
Then  ye  who  with  us  onward  sail, 
And  watch  our  ways,  with  faces  pale, 
And,  hissing  fiercely  as  the  gale, 
Our  right  of  reticence  deny, 
Ye  force  us,  if  we  must  reply, 
To  make  your  fears  increase,  or  lie. 

XXIX. 

Ah,  in  our  good  society, 

(Where  things  that  gain  acceptancy 

Are  fashion's  phrases,  and  an  air 

Which,  caught  with  neither  thought  nor  care, 

Make  wits  and  fools  both  equal  there), 

Lies  oft  seem  wiser  than  the  truth. 

Like  bodies  why  should  souls,  forsooth, 

Not  be  well  padded,  stay'd,  and  laced 

To  suit  the  world's  prevailing  taste, 

Till  through  the  form  no  truth  is  traced  ? 


DOUBTING.  121 

And  so  to  play  with  lies  may  be 
The  surest  way  to  sound  the  key 
That  makes  all  social  tones  agree  ; — 
Ay,  it  the  one  sure  note  may  strike 
That  moves  all  men  to  act  alike. 
And  yet  if  love  must  love  the  soul, 
What  power  more  lovely  can  control 
The  men  we  meet,  than  words  and  ways 
Unveiling  life  so  all  can  gaze 
On  thought  behind  the  outward  phase, 
While  every  eye  serene  and  bright, 
Transparent  with  the  inward  light, 
Reveals  what  thrills  angelic  sight ! 
If  one  in  friends  like  these  confide, 
He  need  not  fear  what  veils  may  hide 
In  moods  that  back  of  them  abide. — 
I  watch'd  a  man  and  maid,  to-day  : 
Each  dimm'd  the  other's  eyes  with  spray. 
He  dash'd  from  his  life's  dregs  unseen 
What  pleased  the  lady's  wistful  mien, — 
A  maid  not  vicious,  yet  I  ween 
Not  loath  to  be,  with  open  eyes, 
His  mate  whom  honor  could  not  prize. 
Ah,  lust  is  lush  in  flatteries  wise  ! 
Full  well  she  liked  her  dash  of  danger 
With  such  a  spicy,  saucy  stranger — 
But  let  them  pass.     For  conquest  girt, 
The  man  a  rake,  the  maid  a  flirt, 


122  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Will  get,  when  caught,  their  own  desert ; 
Be  prey  ;  and  prey  are  always  hurt. 

xxx. 

Who  craves  the  fruit  of  friendship  knows 
How  worthless  now  is  much  that  grows. 
Our  friends,  at  times,  are  parasites, 
Who  drain  our  strength,  to  crawl  to  heights 
On  which  they  thrive  on  other's  rights. 
At  times,  not  made  for  light,  they  spring, 
As  fits  an  upstart  underling, 
Beneath  the  shade  our  branches  fling. 
In  either  case,  it  scarce  would  suit 
Their  aims,  to  bear  the  best  of  fruit. 
The  usual  yield  that  fills  the  stalk 
Is  promissory  buds  of  talk, 
Or  gossip-tales — which  spring  around, 
If  low-lived  friends  gain  slightest  ground, 
Like  toadstools  where  decay  is  found. 
These  gossips  all  are  scavengers 
Of  nobler  people's  characters. 
And  how  can  one  of  taste  or  sense 
Be  made,  and  yet  take  no  offence, 
The  cess-pools  of  their  confidence  ? 

XXXI. 

They  scarcely  let  one  rest  in  bed  ; 
They  whisper  so,  till  all  have, said 


DOUBTING.  123 

Their  worst  about  some  heart  or  head. 

Mean  slanderers  of  characters, 

These  friends  that  stick  to  us  like  burrs, 

Throng  every  home,  and  boast  an  ear 

Well  hugg'd  against  one's  heart,  to  hear 

Each  secret  throb  of  hope  or  fear. 

Why  tell  they  what  they  ne'er  have  known  ? 

And  force  one,  since  he  cannot  own, 

To  leave  their  untrue  love  alone  ? 

A  time  there  was  I  thought  mankind 

Had  all  an  inborn  right  to  find 

How  truth  appeal'd  to  every  mind. 

How  noble  is  the  task,  I  thought, 

When  one  has  wisdom  gain'd  in  aught. 

To  show  what  he  has  thus  been  taught  ! 

And  this  to  do,  my  every  nerve 

I  strain'd  and  pain'd,  so  all  might  serve 

For  men  to  harp  on.     But  the  strings 

I  held  to  them,  were  scarce  the  things 

For  them  to  harp  on  with  content. 

Men  guess  not  oft  the  whole  truth  meant 

By  words  that  voice  another's  thought. 

The  truth  would  seem  too  cheap,  if  brought 

To  souls  that  ne'er  for  it  had  sought. 

XXXII. 

A  man  who  cannot  bear  abuse 
Would  better  live  a  mere  recluse, 


124  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Than  turn  his  own  soul  inside  out 

Because,  forsooth,  men  stand  in  doubt 

Of  what  he  thinks  the  most  about. 

Alas,  where  foes  our  souls  assail, 

Not  all  can  conquer,  stript  of  mail, 

What  spurs  the  firm  may  wound  the  frail. 

Ere  more  I  stoop  to  be  earth's  fool, 

I  swear  to  figure  as  its  ghoul, 

And  chum  with  nightmares,  to  affright 

A  world  that  keeps  my  soul  in  night; 

Or  play  the  owl,  and  rouse  a  toot 

So  mean  that  all  shall  at  me  hoot. 

Hail  open  hatred  !  but  earth's  fangs 

And  secret  hissings  bring  one  pangs 

No  nerve  can  measure.     These  I  fear 

And  from  them  seek  my  attic  here 

That  shields  me  like  a  soul  in  clouds, 

When  one  has  left  the  grave's  white  shrouds 

And  crawling  worms  that  gnaw'd  his  heart, 

Ere  he  and  things  of  earth  did  part. 

XXXIII. 

It  is  not  wholly  misery, 
To  be  bereft  of  sympathy. 
Perchance,  a  wise  Omnipotence 
Makes  plain  mere  surface-difference 
To  join  men  in  a  deeper  sense. 
Beneath  the  whur  of  worldly  strife, 


DOUBTING.  125 

All  undisturb'd,  there  dwells  a  life 

That  feels  the  tender  infant-plea 

Of  something  grander  yet  to  be. 

There  winds  do  whisper,  waves  have  speech. 

And  shapes  and  shades  have  features  each 

That  friendly  to  the  soul  appear, 

And  bring  a  Spirit  subtly  near, 

And  make  the  truth  of  heaven  seem  clear. 

Perchance,  when  driven  to  gaze  away 

From  earth,  to  find  life's  perfect  day, 

A  soul  so  yearns  for  what  should  be 

That  God,  who  always  will  decree 

His  presence  where  men  bend  the  knee, 

Trails,  through  the  strange  unearthly  light, 

His  robes  that,  while  they  blind  the  sight, 

Yet  lure  men  onward  toward  the  right. 

xxxiv. 

Of  late,  when  I  am  all  alone, 
I  try  to  make  the  tests  my  own 
That  wise  Philosophy  has  known. 
My  questioning  thought  to  satisfy, 
With  eager  soul  but  patient  eye, 
I  search  in  every  moving  thing, 
To  find,  at  last,  its  hidden  spring. 
I  fancy  it  is  fire  or  air 
Or  mind  itself  so  conjuring  there. 
I  press  against  the  window  pane, 


126  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Ask — feels  my  nerve  ?  or  feels  my  brain  ? 

What  is  it  joins  my  sense  and  soul  ? 

Is  it  the  Absolute's  control  ? 

Or  is  it  faith  ?  or  is  it  aught 

Beyond  the  ebb  and  flow  of  thought  ? 

Am  I,  who  muse  thus,  made  to  be — 

Responsible  in  no  degree — 

The  vagrant  wave  of  some  vast  sea  ? 

Or  am  I  more  than  most  men  deem, — 

Are  forms  that  round  about  me  gleam, 

Things  not  substantial  as  they  seem, 

But  only  phantoms  of  a  dream  ? 

If  so,  if  not,  can  men,  forsooth, 

With  all  their  searching,  find  the  truth  ? 

Or  do  their  eyes,  approaching  near 

The  grandeur  sought,  with  vision  blear 

See  all  things  falsely  looming  here  ? — 

Then  flashes  right,  as  lightnings  glance  ? 

Or  dawns  it  o'er  some  dozing  trance  ? 

Shall  one  know  more  when  earth  is  done  ? 

Reach  misery  ?  or  oblivion  ? 

Or  through  some  mystic,  spiral  way 

A  Babel  mount,  and  there  survey 

An  earth  become  a  heaven  for  aye  ? 

xxxv. 

But  hold  !  thus  thinking,  I  but  hie 
Some  new-robed  heresy  to  try 


DOUBTING.  127 

Which  made,  of  old,  a  martyr  die. 
Then  is  the  church  the  source  of  right  ? 
Or  is  the  state  ?  or  is  the  light 
Of  conscience  ?  or  is  happiness  ? 
Or  noblest  wish  ?  or  what  men  guess 
Shall  most  the  most  of  mortals  bless  ? — 
When,  started  once  in  plainest  ways, 
My  pathway  winds  amid  a  maze 
Where  things  I  hate  destroy  my  trust, 
And  nothing  more  seems  kind  or  just. 
Then  why  search  I  save  what  is  nigh  ? 
These  earthly  eyes  can  never  spy 
Beyond  where  heaven  has  hung  the  sky. 

xxxvi. 

Ah,  that  which  made  the  stars  made  earth  j 
And  heaven's  is  one  with  human  worth. 
The  light  that  lures  beyond  all  sin 
Is  one  with  love's  that  burns  within. 
Whate'er  I  doubt,  I  know  full  well 
Who  made  the  soul  must  it  impel ; 
Whate'er  may  fail,  heaven  must  reveal 
The  truth  to  those  who  truly  feel 
That  they  pursue  a  true  ideal. 
And  so,  when  ceaseless  calls  appeal, 
One  dare  not  from  them  turn  away. 
Nay,  nay,  he  must  some  work  essay, 
However  slight,  in  every  fray. 


128  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Who  blows  a  bugle,  beats  a  drum, 
Or  jingles  rhymes,  may  rouse  in  some 
That  spirit  which,  in  truth's  grand  war, 
Gains  all  this  life  is  given  for  ! 
Yes,  truth  there  is — I  long  have  thought- 
One  finds,  when  he  has  merely  sought. 

XXXVII. 

Alas,  but  still  desire  will  sink, 

And  faint,  and  almost  die,  to  think 

'T  is  now  well  nigh  six  thousand  years 

That  Lamech's  verse  has  voiced  his  fears, 

And  men  have  search'd  all  earth  about, 

Nor  is  there  yet  aught  less  of  doubt. 

Oh,  what  can  one  late  poet  say 

That  he  has  found,  to  aid  their  way  ? 

Or  how  can  one  late  poet  know 

If  good  or  ill  be  friend  or  foe? 

What  is  the  power  that  lures  a  soul 

In  ways  beyond  its  own  control, 

Till  fever'd  so  by  strange  delights 

Of  dreamy  days  and  sleepless  nights  ? 

Ah,  why  should  one  who  shrinks  from  sight 

Essay  to  push  where  fame's  clear  light 

Can  make  him  but  a  target  bright, 

Where  every  individual  mood 

And  all  the  best  he  has  pursued 

Is  flouted  or  misunderstood  ? — 


DOUBTING.  129 

Where  sense  might  rather  wish  to  be 
A  wild  beast  caged  for  men  to  see 
Than  be  a  lion  such  as  he  ? — 
With  every  word  he  speaks  the  cause 
Of  public  jeering  or  applause, 
And  every  one  he  loves,  in  fear 
That  half  the  world  will  elbow  near  ; 
Through  life  a  slave  to  scrutiny, 
When  dead,  a  dress'd-up  effigy, 
A  puppet  of  biography, 
That  dances  high  or  dances  low 
To  please  the  men  who  make  him  go — 
To  please  the  men  who  strip  him  bare, 
To  bring  him  shame,  or  make  him  wear 
A  suit  striped  like  a  convict's,  where, 
With  every  hue  that  helps  his  fame, 
Alternate  shades  insure  him  blame  ? 
Ye  fools,  who  ne'er  for  wisdom  sought, 
And  ne'er  for  deeds  immortal  wrought, 
Ye  never  knew,  nor  fancied  aught 
That  near'd  at  all  the  inward  thought 
Of  men  of  truth,  whose  footsteps  went 
Through  life  that  was  one  long  ascent : 
They  did  not  seek  a  monument. 

XXXVIII. 

All  wild  with  my  bewilder'd  thought, 
I  paced  the  silent  night,  and  sought 


130  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Some  rest  like  heaven's  dear  rest  above, 
Some  love  to  teach  me  more  of  love. 
I  reached  a  church  with  open  door, 
Whence  music  o'er  the  air  did  pour, 
The  air  that  trembled  as  it  bore 
These  sacred  sounds  of  holy  lore  : — 

XXXIX. 

"  Father  of  our  spirits,  hear  us, 
And  in  mercy  now  draw  near  us, 
And  with  Thy  blest  presence  cheer  us, 

While  our  spirits  look  to  Thee. 
Thou  for  whom  the  stars  are  burning, 
Do  not,  Lord,  disdain  the  yearning 
Of  the  hearts  to  Thy  heart  turning, 

With  their  wants  their  only  plea. 

"  Long  in  doubt's  dark  ways  abiding, 
Lord,  we  need  Thy  light  and  guiding, 
Minds  to  know,  and  souls  confiding 

In  Thy  precious  truth  and  love. 
When  Thine  inward  voice  invited, 
And  desires  for  good  incited, 
We  have  still'd,  because  we  slighted 

All  that  call'd  our  souls  above. 

"  Even  if,  forsaking  pleasure, 
We  have  sought  for  truth  like  treasure, 
Oft  we  but  would  test  the  measure 

Of  what  our  own  strength  could  do  ; 
And,  beyond  our  best  endeavor, 
Full  assurance  found  we  never 


DOUBTING.  131 

That,  if  wrong,  the  old  life  ever 
Can  be  cancelled  by  the  new. 

"  Naught  is  left  us,  Lord,  we  feel  it, 
Holy  writ  and  reason  seal  it, 
And  all  loving  lives  reveal  it, — 

But  to  cast  ourselves  on  Thee. 
Here  we  come  before  Thee  kneeling, 
Moved  by  far  too  little  feeling  ; 
Yet  to  grace  divine  appealing, 

Wilt  Thou,  Lord,  reject  our  plea  ? 

"  Nay,  our  souls  for  mercy  sighing, 
Think  of  Jesus,  living,  dying, 
And  they  know  Thy  love  replying 

Need  not  wait  for  worth  in  us. 
With  our  strength  impair'd  and  sinking, 
From  each  nobler  duty  shrinking, 
Lord,  we  praise  Thee  most  in  thinking 

Thou  wilt  yet  receive  us  thus. 

"  Thou  wilt,  Lord,  from  Thy  high  station, 
Pardon  us,  and  send  salvation, 
Till  Thy  Spirit's  inspiration 

Make  us  all  we  ought  to  be. 
Void  of  good,  yet  Thou  canst  make  us 
Fill'd  with  what  Thou  wilt.     Oh,  take  us, 
Own  us,  hold  us,  nor  forsake  us, 

For  our  spirits  look  to  Thee. " 

XL. 

Scarce  into  stillness  died  the  song, 
Ere  tones  rose  up  so  sweetly  strong 


132  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

They  check'd  the  rustling  of  the  throng, 
As  Christ's  own  voice  above  the  sea 
Calm'd  once  the  troubled  Galilee. 
Then,  while  I  paused  yet  more  to  hear, 
Like  storm-toss'd  seas  made  calm  and  clear, 
In  which  the  mirror'd  heavens  appear, 
My  moods,  no  more  in  sad  commotion, 
Were  fill'd  with  heaven-inspired  devotion; 
And,  as  the  sailor,  while  the  waves 
Are  roll'd  apart  like  opening  graves, 
Recalls  a  time  of  calm  he  craves  ; 
Thus  oft  my  life,  as  woes  increase, 
Recalls  with  joys  that  never  cease 
These  words  that  fill'd  me  then  with  peace  : 

XLI. 

"  '  The  truth — the  truth  shall  make  you  free.'     Ah,  friends, 
What  would  your  spirits  give,  could  they  be  free  ? — 
I  mean  your  spirits,  friends  :  all  gospel  truths 
Are  given  for  these  :  I  mean  those  moods  within, 
Those  thoughts  and  wishes  that  are  ever  ruled 
By  something  that  seems  not  to  leave  them  free, — 
By  some  vague  force  that  in  the  inmost  soul 
Holds  all  the  reins  of  action,  guiding  one 
Along  some  safe  but  strait  and  narrow  way  ; 
Now  checking  thoughts  that  long  to  turn  from  it ; 
Now  in  the  right  course  urging  faster  on 
Too  sluggish  wills,  or  lashing  their  revolt 
"With  all  the  scorpion  scourges  of  remorse. 


DOUBTING.  133 

No  matter  by  what  name  men  term  this  force — 

Their  conscience,  their  ideal,  their  inward  light — 

It  wakes  in  every  soul  that  lives,  a  sense 

That  each,  so  far  as  he  may  know  the  truth, 

Should  ever  struggle  to  obey  it  too. 

You,  who  in  bondage  feel  because  your  lives 

Have  made  your  conscience  curb  you  for  your  sins, 

Think  not  your  conscious  wills  can  rid  your  souls 

Of  that  which  will  not  mind  a  mortal  will. 

The  law  of  truth,  which  is  our  spirit's  law, 

Is  omnipresent  as  our  spirit's  Lord. 

You  cannot  fly  from  it.     Your  vain  revolt 

But  works  your  ruin,  like  a  rebel's  rage 

That  but  calls  forth  a  king's  authority. 

The  truth  can  never  change.     'T  is  yours  to  change 

And  love  its  rightful  rule.     And  would  you  ask 

How  can  one  love  this  vague,  uncertain  thing 

Men  term  the  truth  ? — Friends,  it  would  not  be  vague, 

If  we  could  know  but  one  whose  words  and  works 

To  it  had  been  conform'd.     And  One  there  was 

Who,  when  his  mien,  transparent  with  a  light 

That  seem'd  the  truth's,  had  drawn  men  toward  himself, 

Said — what  they  all  had  felt — '  I  am  the  truth.' 

Think  you  his  claim  so  strange  ?     Had  earth  no  need, 

No  deep  desire  for  one  to  image  forth 

This  truth  that  rules  our  spirits,  that  he  be 

Our  leader  and  our  teacher  of  the  right  ? — 

Ay,  more  than  this,  the  inspirer  of  our  love  ? 

Ah,  friends,  if  he  who  lived  to  do  earth  good, 

Denying  self,  and  dying,  at  the  last, 

To  save  the  world  from  falsehood  and  from  fault,— 

If  his  life  were,  indeed,  the  life  of  truth. 

What  can  we  do,  if  just  alone  to  self, 


134  *   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

But  love  the  truth  and  live  the  truth,  and  be 

Ourselves  the  saviors  of  our  smaller  spheres  ? 

Ay,  while  we  watch  the  law  that  he  lived  out, 

Our  love  will  follow  him,  instinctively  ; 

And,  while  he  draws  us  onward  toward  himself, 

Our  outward  lives  will  serve  truth's  inward  laws, 

Unconscious  of  the  conscience  that  but  checks 

The  course  of  him  who  moves  toward  conscious  wrong. 

Then,  friends,  then  would  you  seek  the  thing  you  wish 

Nor  feel  your  conscience  curb  you,  wish  for  truth  ; 

For  when  your  spirits  learn  to  know  of  this, 

And  love  and  trust  and  live  it,  yours  will  be 

A  will  that  heaven  itself  can  never  bind. 

"  And  more,  dear  friends  ;  below  the  reach  of  will, 
Oh,  have  you  never  felt  within  the  soul 
Desires  that  search  far  off  in  thoughts  that  steal 
All  rest  from  sleep  through  dreams  and  revery  ; 
As  if  the  spirit  in  its  loneliness 
Were  haunted  by  some  long-lost  sympathy, 
And  struggling  to  regain  the  sunder'd  state  ? — 
Deem  not  to  end  these  wants  by  earthly  gains. 
While  seeking  them,  the  boy  would  be  a  man, 
Maids  blush  for  maidenhood,  and  lovers  kneel, 
Then  firecely  strive  for  wealth  and  power  and  fame. 
But,  tho'  they  know  it  not,  they  ever  strive 
For  gains  that  loom  beyond  their  earthly  sphere, 
Until  their  wasted  energies  give  way, 
Or  mount  earth's  thrones  to  feel  they  rule,  alas, 
Like  Alexander,  only  vanity. 
For  ah,  their  spirits  crave  the  Infinite, 
Nor  can  be  sated  save  by  that  embrace 
Which  makes  them  one  with  God,  when  every  vein 


DOUBTING.  135 

In  all  their  nature  thrills  to  feel  within 

The  omnipresent  current  of  the  love 

That  pulses  from  the  heart  of  hearts  to  which 

All  spiritual  being  owes  its  life. 

And  what  can  join  our  spirits  to  their  source, 

And  free  them  from  the  grasp  of  finite  things, 

Except  the  law  of  truth,  as  it  controls 

Our  lives,  when  in  our  souls  we  learn  to  know 

And  live  a  love  like  his  who  was  the  truth  ? 

' '  The  world  has  its  encircling  customs  too, 
Drawn  sharply  round  the  spheres  we  fill  in  life. 
They  make  one  shame-faced,  make  the  soul  a  slave. 
We  need  the  truth  to  free  us  from  the  world. 
How  can  it,  ask  you  ? — Why,  friends,  those  who  live 
For  truth,  find  all  their  weakness,  well  confess'd, 
No  cause  for  shame  !     Nay,  nay,  they  kneel  to  join, 
With  what  they  are,  and  not  what  they  are  not, 
The  royal  priesthood  of  humanity. 
Before  the  waiting  shrine  this  priesthood  serves 
There  can  be  no  one,  not  the  least  of  men, 
But  has  his  mission.     Half  a  mortal  he, 
And  half  a  spirit  ;  half  the  son  of  earth, 
And  half  of  heaven  ;  it  is  his  work  divine 
To  mediate  for  his  race  between  the  two  ; 
To  take  the  life  God  gave  him  at  his  birth, — 
Its  germ,  its  growth,  and  all  its  varied  fruit, — 
And  offer  it,  like  him — that  greater  priest 
Who  offer'd  more — a  willing  sacrifice 
Upon  life's  altar,  where  the  heaven-born  soul 
Is  tested  and  refined  by  fires  of  earth. 
Then  must  he  work  with  whatsoe'er  survives, 
And  show  to  men  his  preservations  grand 


136  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Of  common  things  that  they  profane  and  slight, 

And  hush  their  murmurs  by  sublime  appeals 

That  urge  their  spirits  to  the  spirit's  best. 

Thus  can  he  fill  a  worthy  sphere,  and  be 

Earth's  humble  victim,  who,  its  prophet  too, 

Reveres  his  life  for  what  his  life  reveals. 

Oh,  you  who  crave  men's  faith  in  what  you  are, 

No  selfish  wish  need  yours  be,  if  you  crave 

No  praises  for  your  faults,  but  shun  afar, 

With  equal  dread,  false  frowns  and  flatteries. 

Ay,  you  do  right.     God  speed  your  yearning  souls ! 

Crave  manhood's  mission,  earth's  acknowledgment 

That  you  are  priests,  its  honor  for  your  truth, 

And,  with  your  own,  the  world's  development. 

"  Live  self,  but  live  not  for  self.     Not  for  one, 
For  all  of  us  the  truth  brings  liberty  ; 
For  our  own  spirits,  when  we  serve  the  right, 
Free  wishes,  hearts,  and  hands  ;  for  others  charity. 
Still  more  and  more  do  truth's  joint  heirs  with  Christ, 
Without  regard  to  others'  praise  or  blame, 
Love  all  who  love  the  truth  that  makes  them  free. 
Ah,  when  one  learns  how  infinite  this  is, 
How  many  are  its  ministers,  and  how 
They  differ  infinitely  in  their  ways, 
He  learns  to  reverence  every  word  and  deed, 
No  matter  whose  or  what,  that  does  not  keep 
The  truth  back  from  its  final  victory. 
Tho'  he  himself  may  be  misunderstood, 
Gainsaid  and  thwarted  by  the  very  souls 
With  whom  his  has  enlisted,  if  they  yet 
Press  bravely  forward,  he  may  feel  for  them, 
If  less  than  whole  love,  more  than  interest. 


DOUBTING.  137 

His  lord-like  spirit,  like  the  spirit's  Lord, 

Content  to  work  or  wait,  to  do  or  die, 

If  but  the  truth  he  serves  may  be  supreme." 

XLII. 

Do  I  still  doubt  ? — at  least  I  know 
That  truth  and  faith  within  us  grow 
Not  like  the  weed  the  wind  may  sow. 
They  are  not  things  that  spring  unsought, 
Nor  do  they  spring — as  tho'  't  were  naught 
To  will  and  do — from  merely  thought. 
Give  monks  the  meed  of  vague  abstraction, 
But  noblest  souls  find  satisfaction, 
And  consciousness  of  life,  in  action. 
'T  is  they  that,  where  they  cannot  know, 
Walk  on  by  faith,  who  strengthen  so 
The  faith  by  which  they  further  go. 
'T  is  they  that  try  what  work  can  earn, 
Who  test  their  own  work's  worth,  and  turn 
From  wrong  to  right  for  which  they  yearn. 
'T  is  they  whose  thinking  aids  their  kind, 
Who,  while  they  help  their  brothers,  find 
The  truth  that  most  rules  every  mind. 
And,  while  to  this  they  too  adjust 
Their  lives,  because  they  feel  they  must, 
Their  faith  beholds  the  form  august  , 

Of  God  behind  each  form  of  dust ; 
For  God's  truth  only  all  men  trust. 


138  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  so  I  hold  that  work  controls 
The  life  that  blesses  most  our  souls. 

XLIII. 

Ah  me,  to  think  what  all  could  win, 

In  spite  of  natures  prone  to  sin, 

By  working  well  their  wealth  within  ! — 

For  it,  like  gems  of  priceless  worth, 

That  fill  the  mire  and  mines  of  earth, 

Oft  gains  its  dearness  from  its  dearth  j 

Nor  oft  is  got,  until,  at  last, 

The  pick,  or  flood,  or  fire,  or  blast 

Has  rent  the  place  that  held  it  fast. 

Then  wonder  not  that  wreck  and  woe 

Should  be  one's  lot  on  earth  below. 

Kind  heaven  itself  may  open  so 

The  spirit's  depth,  its  worth  to  show. 

Earth  needs  the  sight.     All  men  who  try 

To  glorify  the  Lord  on  high 

Must  prove  his  goodness  through  their  own. 

They  cannot  lead  one  toward  His  throne, 

Save  through  the  Godlike  traits  alone 

That  their  transfigured  lives  have  shown. 

XLIV. 

Too  many  sate  their  souls  with  arts 
That  fit  their  lips,  but  not  their  hearts. 
Not  skill  to  chide  another's  pride 


DOUBTING.  139 

Can  make  a  wise  or  welcome  guide  ; 
But  he  the  best  for  noble  deeds 
Inspires  his  kind,  who  best  succeeds 
In  finding  what  his  own  soul  needs. 
Though  others'  need  to  his  be  small, 
He  may  be  less,  yet  more  than  all. 
Nay,  God  gives  each  an  equal  call, 
With  ill  to  bear  and  good  to  share 
And,  whether  it  be  full  or  spare, 
Some  truth  to  show  the  Godlike  there. 
Let  then  the  Spirit's  voice  be  heard, 
Tho'  warbling  only  like  a  bird 
Vague  sounds  that  hardly  hint  a  word. 
The  men  who  hear  that  call  on  high, 
I  will  believe,  if  toward  the  sky 
They  turn,  and  think  that  love  is  nigh. 
Are  bless'd  tho'  they  but  heave  a  sigh. 
Who  wants  to  fill  an  earthly  throne 
Birth  gave  him  not  ? — Far  better  own 
Oneself  and  be  oneself  alone. 


OTE  FOURTH. 


The  morrow  came,  and  with  it 

came  again 
The  people  eager  for  the  poet's 

rhymes. 

"  He  whom  we  mourn,"  the  soldier  said,  "  knew  well 
That   all  men's   wisdom    flows   from   each  man's 

thought ; 

And  every  page  of  progress  but  records 
The  impress  of  this  thought  express'd  in  deed. 
So  when  he  deem'd  that  he  his  doubt  had  fathom'd 
And  found  truth's  rock  beneath,  he  could  not  rest 
And  not  proclaim  it.     When  the  Sabbath  came 
It  found  him  hard  at  work  in  school  or  church. 
Ten  years,  content  with  gains  from  week-day  toil, 
He  gave  all  Sabbaths  to  his  fellow-men. 
He  taught,  he  preach'd,  and  help'd  in  home  and 

lane 

The  sick  and  poor  ;  and  much  he  loved  the  work  ; 
And  loved  the  little  children  of  his  flock  ; 
And  loved  their  mothers  as  the  soul  may  love  ; 
140 


NOTE  FOURTH.  14! 

But  loved  the  full-grown  men  most  heartily ; 
For  he  could  give  strong  feeling  vent  with  them, 
Nor  find  them  shatter'd  by  its  vehemence. 
'  Give  me  the  spirit,'  I  have  heard  him  say, 
'  That  comes  to  meet  my  own  with  every  thought 
Full-girded  for  a  final  test  of  strength. 
From  tilts  with  it  my  soul  that  strives  its  best 
Emerges  conscious  of  new  power  acquired. 
Ah,  could  they  all  who  plead  with  men  for  truth, 
Meet  face  to  face  convictions  that  are  strong, 
How  strong  would  grow  the  pleaders,  and  how  wise! 
No  longer,  fill'd  with  fear  lest  prejudice 
Should  flee  the  shock  of  unaccustomed  thought, 
Would  coward-caution  hush  to  voiceless  death 
The  truth  that  breathes  within.     Earth  would  not 

hold 

One  pulpit  echoing  like  a  parrot-cage 
The  thought-void  accents  of  a  rote-learn'd  creed ; 
Nor  heed  one  preacher  like  a  cell-bound  monk 
Who,  knowing  men  as  boys  in  school  know  flowers, 
Not  as  they  grow,  but  pluck'd  and  press'd  in  books, 
Would  rather  save  the  pictures  of  the  soul 
Sketch'd  on  some  small  cell  wall,  than  one  live  soul 
In  whose  free  thinking  God  depicts  himself.' 
Thus  oft  the  printer-preacher  spoke, — a  man 
Full-hearted,  fit  to  be  a  poet  too, 
And  speak  and  write  of  what  we  now  shall  read." 


&.E  E  K  IN  G 


My  spirit,  moving  on  to  higher 

life, 
At  one    sad    place   became  a 

prey  to  strife  ; 
For  many  oft  would  cross  my  path,  and  say 
Their  souls  were  moving  in  the  better  way  ; 
And  mere  delusions  had  allured  my  feet 
Along  the  course  my  faith  had  found  so  sweet. 
At  this,  then,  like  a  child,  who  turns  to  leave 
The  wranglings  of  his  mates  that  make  him  grieve, 
And  rest  his  weary  head  upon  that  breast 
Whose  firm  maternal  love  can  bear  it  best, 
My  mind  would  turn  to  nature.     Where  but  there 
Could  earth-born  trouble  find  maternal  care  ? 
How  long'd  I  to  be  hidden  in  the  shade 
Which  the  thick  mantlings  of  her  forests  made, 
And  stay  there  undisturb'd  by  human  thought, 
Till  sweet  and  soothing  influences,  brought 
From  sources  far  removed  from  man's  control 
Should  cool  the  burning  fever  of  my  soul ! 

142 


SEEKING.  143 

So,  for  a  season  bidding  men  farewell, 
I  dwelt  alone  within  a  grove-grown  dell 

n. 

Thence  wandering   forth   one   still   clear   night   I 

found 

Beneath  the  moon  that  rose  up,  large  and  round, 
Through  vistas  opening  like  some  temple's  aisles, 
Great  trees  that  arched  the  moveless  air  for  miles. 
Their  spreading  boughs,  like  shadowy  rafters,  lined 
A  star-filled  dome,  and  oft,  where  foliage  twined 
In  leafy  fretwork  round  each  trailing  limb, 
Flash'd    bright   with    dew.      Beneath    them,    fair 

though  dim, 

About  the  trees'  wide  trunks,  in  half  seen  bowers, 
And  pushing  up  through  paths  I  trod,  were  flowers. 
I  seem'd  their  nature's  lord  ;  for,  when  my  feet 
Would  crush  them  as   I   pass'd,  they  grew  more 

sweet. 

in. 

Anon  a  brook  before  my  vision  spread. 

It  seem'd  a  path  that  fairy  feet  could  tread, — 

A  path  of  silver,  o'er  a  jewell'd  ground, 

Which   far    away    toward    heaven-like   mountains 

wound. 

White  mists  were  clinging  to  the  brook's  bright  side, 
Like  spirit  bands  I  thought  them,  whom  its  tide 


144  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Lull'd  softly,  couch'd  amid  the  dark-leaved  trees, 
Awaiting  bugles  of  the  morning  breeze, 
And  all  the  rush  of  daybreak  sweeping  by, 
To  bear  them  off  in  glory  to  the  sky. 

IV. 

At  times,  mysterious  whurs  of  winds  and  wings 
And  whisperings  rose,  with  long-drawn  echoings. 
'T  was  music,  lingering  lovingly  along 
The  breeze  its  fragrance  freighted,  like  a  song 
From  bay-bound  barks  in  hazy  autumn  calms  ; 
Nor  less  it  sway'd  my  soul  than  slow  low  psalms, 
Begun  where  organ  blasts  that  roar'd  and  rush'd 
And  made  the  air-waves  roll,  are  swiftly  hush'd, 
And  our  thrill'd  breasts  inhale  as  well  as  hear 
The  awe-fill'd  sweetness  of  the  atmosphere. 

v. 

How  calmly  did  such  sights  and  sounds  impart 

Their  own  deep  calmness  to  my  troubled  heart ! 

With  gratitude  for  each  toy-touch  of  air 

At  play  on  my  knit  brow,  I  rested  there. 

But  while  I  rested,  lo,  a  stranger's  form 

Push'd  through  the  white  bars  of  the  moonlight 

warm  ; 

And  with  a  soft  slow  movement  near  me  came, 
The  while  his  face,  tho'  mute,  smiled  forth  to  claim 


SEEKING.  145 

Full  sympathy  with  me  ere  either  spoke  ; 
But  soon  his  voice  upon  the  silence  broke : — 

VI. 

"Who  loves  not,  where  all  shapes  and  sounds  we 

test 

So  charm  us  by  the  mysteries  they  suggest, 
To  throw  aside,  or  strive  to  throw,  at  least, 
Beliefs  that  satisfy  our  times,  and  feast 
On  superstition,  and  half  credit  freaks 
With  which  fair  fancy  lured  those  dreamy  Greeks. 
Our  older  age  has  dropt  the  young  world's  joys, 
And  takes  life  earnestly  ;  but  it  employs 
Its  ardor  too  much  like  an  o'ergrown  boy's, 
Whose  fist  and  arm  so  often  plied  in  strife 
But  show  his  brain  is  weak.     There  are  in  life 
Deep  truths  we  value  not.     We  rend  apart 
The  forms  of  nature,  but  have  little  heart 
To  prize  the  hints  to  thought  that  meet  our  view. 
And  we  forget  that  mysteries  too  are  true  ; 
And  we  forget  the  bourn  beyond  the  blue ; 
And  we  forget  about  the  silent  pall ; 
And  faith,  which  only  holds  the  key  of  all, 

VII. 

"  More  wise  it  were  to  feel  that  ^Eolus 
Here  held  the  tempest  back,  so  Zephyrus 


146  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Might  tune  for  his  fair  wife,  through  long,  dear  hours, 

Tones  richer  than  the  music  of  her  bowers  ; 

Nor  ever  made  discordant  by  wild  showers 

Or  pipes  of  wilder  winds.     More  wise  it  were 

To  thank  the  gods  of  woods  and  waves  astir, 

That  here  there  come  no  Harpies  to  affright 

The  soul  that  longs  to  linger  in  delight, 

That  here  no  vultures'  plumes  and  vipers'  forms 

Emerge  from  out  the  depths  of  streams  and  storms  ; 

That  voices  of  the  Sirens  lure  none  here  ; 

Nor  scorpion  scourges,  nor  coil'd  snakes  appear 

All  matted  o'er  hags'  faces,  chuckling  near 

The  grim-fix'd  mask  of  Fate.     Instead  of  these, 

What  joy  to  muse  on  passing  Naiades  ! 

And  bands  of  those  home-loving  Dryades, 

Call'd  out  to  join  the  serenading  groups 

That  gather  round  the  sweet  Hamadryad  troops, 

Or  hear  the  Napaeae,  singing  through  the  vale, 

The  while  the  Echo  speeds  her  flight  to  hail 

The  long  array  of  Oread  choirs  that  give  her 

The  mountain's  answer  to  the  sea  and  river. 

VIII. 

"  More  wise  than  doubting  all,  't  were  e'en  to  think 
That  oft  the  Graces  haunt  this  brooklet's  brink, 
With  Fauns  and  all  the  rustic  retinue 
Of  Bacchus  ;  or,  as  old  engravers  drew 
On  Pyrrhus's  agate,  at  some  greener  spot, 


SEEKING.  147 

Join'd  hand  in  hand,  all  other  cares  forgot, — 
The   scroll   and   mask   and   lute   that   mark   their 

craft, — 

And  merry  o'er  a  fresh  Castalian  draft, 
With  voice  and  tread,  the  sacred  nine  aspire 
To  match  in  time  Apollo's  nervous  lyre  ; 
While  through  it  all  the  reeds  of  Syrinx  play, 
And  make  harmonious  each  diverging  lay." 

IX. 

He  turn'd  away ;  and  I,  who,  well  pleased,  heard, 
Could  not  but  follow  him.     Without  a  word 
We  walk'd  at  first,  like  pilgrims  near  a  shrine 
They  much  revere,  who,  fill'd  with  thrills  too  fine 
To  throb  through  words  accented,  satisfy 
Their  souls  by  feeling  that  the  god  is  nigh. 
"  Alas,  how  many  a  thought,"  he  said  at  last, 
"  Whose  accents  reach  us  through  the  rustling  blast, 
Or  meaning  seems  inscribed  in  circling  rills, 
And  outlines  of  the  rocks,  the  trees,  the  hills, 
Is  void  of  purport  to  the  soul  whose  eyes 
Have  never  yet  been  taught  to  know  and  prize 
The  purpose  underneath  !     Forms  can  impart 
Their  import  only  to  a  feeling  heart. 

x. 

"  All  things  created  can  for  thought  procure 
No  more  than  one's  creative  thoughts  conjure 


148  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

From  out  their  forms.     A  likeness  in  them  speaks 
To  like  in  us,  the  while  our  spirit  seeks 
Close  contact  with  their  own.     For  nature  is 
Transparent,  and  reveals  her  mysteries 
To  mortals  only  whose  own  sympathies 
Make  them  transparent,  opening  all  between 
Themselves  and  nature,  so  that  naught  can  screen 
Her  inmost  meaning  from  their  inmost  mind. 
Such  spirits  in  earth's  round  horizon  find 
A  glass  divine — like  that  called  Claude  Lorraine's — 
A  strange,  strong  lens  that  deep  within  contains 
Heaven's  forms  for  thought,  made  small  in  scope 

to  match 

Man's  comprehension.     But  how  few  can  catch 
Heaven's  meaning  through  the  forms.      How  few 

so  wise 

That  they  can  look  beneath  the  rustling  guise 
Of  Nature's  vestments,  and  perceive  below 
The  mind  informing  them,  that  makes  them  glow 
With  living  truth.     Alas,  how  many  souls, 
As  blind  to  all  that  might  be  seen  as  moles, 
Live,  merely  burrowing  in  earth's  dust  and  gloom 
To  make  their  whole  surroundings  but  a  tomb 
Wherein  dead  minds  may  lie.     And  yet  how  grand 
Might  life  become,  could  all  but  understand 
The  thoughts  that  flow  with  brooks  in  every  glade, 
And  grow  to  strengthen  souls  with  every  blade 
Of  verdure  in  the  spring-time  !     Could  they  read 


SEEKING.  149 

And  know  and  use  earth  rightly,  then,  indeed, 
Might  heaven  too  open  above  them,  while  they  too 
Would  cry  like  Paul,  'What  wilt  Thou  have  me 
do?' 

XI. 

"  We  mortal  men  may  all  be  priests,  high  priests 

Of  nature,  who  may  gather  in  from  beasts 

And  birds  and  creeping  things,  and  sky,  and  earth, 

That  which  each  form  reveals  of  truth  or  worth, 

And,  in  our  higher  natures,  find  a  speech 

To  voice  the  praise  that  thought  can  frame  for  each. 

Can  aught  on  earth  give  right  supremacy, 

Except  this  priesthood  of  humanity  ? 

Where  burn  the  altar-fires  that  can  make  pure 

Earth's  wrong  and  dross,  and  through  their  flames 

insure 

True  worship  for  all  forms  of  life  or  art, 
If  not  enkindled  in  the  human  heart  ? 

XII. 

"  Believe  me,  in  humanity  it  is, 

In  charities,  and  kindly  courtesies, 

In  eyes  that  sparkle,  and  in  cheeks  that  blush 

With  love  and  hope  and  faith,  which  make  them 

flush, 

That  all  the  bloom  and  fruitage  of  the  earth 
Attain  their  consummation  and  their  worth. 


150  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Deep  underneath  our  nature  is  a  power 

That,  pushing   forth   through  soil   and   seed   and 

flower, 

Moves  on  and  out  through  all  of  sentient  life, 
And  struggles  most  in  man  ;  nor  can  the  strife 
Be  ended  ever,  till  the  force  controls 
The  last  least  impulse  that  impels  our  souls. 
E'en  then  this  power,  inspiring  words  and  deeds, 
Though  check'd,  at  times,  in  customs  or  in  creeds, 
Anon  bursts  through  all  these  to  show  the  stress 
Of  that  behind  them  which  would  thus  express 
Through  finite  forms  that  it  is  limitless." 

XIII. 

Here  stealing  silence  from  his  final  word. 

Because  I  greatly  prized  the  thoughts  I  heard, 

I  ask'd  who  was  it  thus  communed  with  me. 

"  One  who  would  lead  your  soul  to  faith,"  said  he  ; 

"  While  studying  nature  and  humanity, 

You  learn  to  trace  the  spirit's  destiny." 

"  While  studying  humanity,"  I  said, 

"  Some  slight  far  grander  interests  overhead. 

Their  deep  concern  for  human  worthiness 

Prompts    earthly    love    not    more,    but    heavenly 

less. — 

Though  you  seem  not  for  this  cause  to  ignore, 
But  rather  value  God  and  heaven  the  more." 


SEEKING.  151 

XIV. 

"Why  not?"   he  question'd.      "Is  God's  coin  a 

fraud  ? 

His  impress  can  you  see,  and  not  be  awed  ? 
Should  one  not  search  His  image  ? — for  I  fear 
They  see  but  sense  who  seek  not  spirit  here." 
"  Alas,"  rejoin'd  I,  "  once  my  soul  essay'd 
To  seek  Him  thus,  but  it  no  progress  made. 
My  thoughts  of  man  in  growing  old,  grow  sad, 
And  learn  the  more,  the  more  to  learn  of  bad." 
"  And  are  you  sure,"  he  said,  "  that  your  complaint 
Bespeaks  a  healthful  mood  ?     Is  health  so  faint  ? — 
The  earth  is  not  a  heaven,  nor  man  a  saint ; 
But  truths  there  are  to  which  our  faith  may  cling, 
And  trace  with  joy  some  good  in  every  thing. 

xv. 

"  There  lifts  a  height,"  he  said,  "  beyond  this  hill, 
Where  once,  as  runs  the  tale,  with  moveless  will, 
Judea's  Christ  was  tempted  to  the  wrong. 
The  paths  that  lead  there  are  so  rough  and  long 
That  few  men  ever  mount  them  ;  but  those  few, 
Amid  clear  heavenly  air  that  aids  their  view, 
In  some  strange  way,  to  man  a  mystery, 
May  find  reveal'd  the  whole  world's  history, 
While  all  its  kingdoms  and  its  customs  lie 
As  if  a  living  map  beneath  the  eye." 


I$2  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

"  But,"  ask'd  I,  "  is  a  soul  still  tempted  there  ? " — 
"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  but  those  who  walk  with  care, 
Are  well  repaid.  Times  come  when  men  no  more 
Are  tempted  by  what  tempted  them  of  yore." — 

XVI. 

He  said  this,  then  moved  on  with  me  awhile, 

Until  at  last  we  reach 'd  a  dark  defile, 

Through  which  a  river  dash'd  ;  but  soon  the  dell 

Became  a  precipice,  adown  which  fell 

The  spray-sent  stream,  then  thunder'd  its  farewell 

A  thousand  feet  below.     From  where  we  stood 

We  watch 'd  it  wind  and  gleam  amid  a  wood, 

Whose  tree-tops  far  beneath  us  waved  away, 

Well  swept  by  winds  that   made  them  sigh   and 

sway 

Across  a  sea-like  space  of  hills  and  dales. 
The  high  heaved  peaks  and  all  the  deep-rent  vales 
Were  bright  with  autumn's  tints  that  end  the  year 
Like  sunset  ending  day.     "  The  glories  here 
Bespeak  translation  and  not  death,"  said  he. 
"  These  leaves  are  bright  as  flowers  that  lure  the  bee 
In  orchards.     When  they  fall,  the  limbs  are  clear 
For  life's  fresh  fruitage  of  the  coming  year. 
So  find  I  autumn's  hues  of  gold  and  red 
Worn  by  each  season,  ere  the  leaves  are  shed, 
A  mantle  which  the  old  year  from  the  skies 


SEEKING.  153 

Drops  like  Elijah's,  and  it  prophesies 
New  life  beyond  to  which  all  nature  hies." 

XVII. 

Amid  the  scenes  below,  I  sought  to  find 

The  grove  where  we  had  met.     "  How  like  in  kind 

Seem  all  things  there  !  "  exclaimed  he.     "  'T  were 

the  same 

If  men  we  saw.     Could  one's  peculiar  claim 
Ascend  as  high  up  even  as  are  we  ? 
For  aye,  the  nearer  heaven  our  view-points  be, 
The  more  of  men's  equality  we  see. 
Yet  here  we  cannot  pause.     Yon  peaks  that  rise 
From  ridge  to  ridge  like  stairways  through  the  skies, 
Invite  us  upward.     Note  that  farthest  range, 
Where  shades,  from  clouds  that  seem  too  high  for 

change, 

Move  slowly  on  with  such  solemnity, 
Not  like  those  near  us,  tripping  merrily 
To  music  of  the  swaying  pines, — that  height 
Invites  our  presence,  ere  we  part  to-night. 
We  must  move  on  and  up  " — which  saying,  then 
He  led  me  forward,  it  were  hard  to  pen 
Through  what  long  wastes  of  ledge  and  brake  and 

fen. 

XVIII. 

But  on  a  high,  broad  cliff  his  quick  gait  ceast ; 
And  thence,  the  while  he  pointed  toward  the  east, 


154  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

My  eyes  could  see — upon  a  greener  field, 

Swept  of  the  cumbering  trees,  and  half  conceal'd 

By  clouds  of  smoke  as  white  as  was  its  own 

Pure  marble  hue — an  altar  ;  nor  alone. 

Soon,  standing  near  it,  where  the  air  had  clear'd 

A  white-robed  multitude  of  priests  appear'd, 

And  multitudes  about  them  ranged  in  line, 

And  multitudes  of  victims,  fowl  and  kine, 

And,  ever  and  anon,  a  listening  ear 

Some  vagrant  fragments  of  men's  praise  could  hear, 

Soft  interrupted  strains  that  stroked  the  air 

As  though  vibrations  from  the  wings  of  prayer. 

Then,  as  I  sought  to  learn  the  cause  of  all, 

The  altar-smoke  that,  ere  this,  like  a  pall 

Had  rested  o'er  it,  rose  afar  and  spread 

Like  Paribanou's  tent,  o'er  every  head 

Unfolding  far  past  all  foretoken'd  size. 

Yet  still  the  fumes  unfolded,  till  the  skies 

Were  black  as  when  that  drapery  thick  hung  o'er 

The  pyre  of  dead  Pompeii,  lit  of  yore 

By  her  fierce  executioner,  the  grim 

Vesuvius.     Like  that  did  this  mass  dim 

All  things  except  its  own  form  hovering 

Above  the  earth,  and  swiftly  covering 

The  moon  and  struggling  stars  :  but  lo,  ere  long 

'T  was  limb'd  anew,  the  while  a  wind-blast  strong 

Rent  from  its  ragged  outlines  threatening  forms, 

Whirl'd  like  tornadoes,  torn  from  clouds  in  storms. 


SEEKING.  155 

These  then,  that   seem'd   o'er  half    the   earth   to 

lower, 

Were  seen  to  be  the  arms  of  some  vast  power 
That  floated  on  the  air  :  and  soon  behold 
Their  fingers  far  seem'd  stretching  off  to  mould 
The  yielding  texture  of  the  pliant  space. 
"  Now  watch,"  my  guide   said  ;    "  while   on   high 

they  place 

The  stars  call'd  surges,  and  the  earth,  mirtlok, 
And  patals  of  the  lower  realm,  where  flock 
The  evil  bands  of  Nardman.     This  is  he, — 
Great  Brahma,  who  above  the  Indian  sea 
Once  on  the  lotus  lay,  when  truth  began 
To  gild  the  dreams  of  youth,  and  guide  the  man. 

XIX. 

"Ah,  thought  was  crystallized  when  came  the  world! 

Be  He  the  Nile-land  Kneph,  or  He  who  hurl'd, 

In  frozen  climes,  the  heat  from  Muspellheim 

Within  Ginnunga-gap,  or  One  sublime, 

Whose  glories  bursting  through  earth's  dawn,  in  days 

Of  Grecian  lore,  awoke  the  Greek  to  praise, 

There  lives  a  Power  on  whom  all  nations  call, 

Before  whom,  in  their  hours  of  woe,  they  fall, — 

A  Spirit's  presence,  back  of  hill  and  plain, 

That  breathes  and  moves  through  all :  and  all  in 

vain 
Men  seek  for  rest  who  pay  to  Him  no  vow 


156  A   LIFE  IN  SONG, 

To  whom  the  conscience  feels  impell'd  to  bow 

And  all  its  conscious  energies  devote. 

In  search  of  Him,  in  ages  most  remote, 

The  Hindoo,  back  of  nature's  robes  could  trace 

A  life  he  dared  not  name.     Was  His  veil'd  face, 

One  with  Jehovah's  of  another  race 

That  named  Him  not  ?  whose  aim  was  to  redeem 

This  world  from  wretchedness,  and  wake  a  dream 

Of  night's  ideals  with  day's  real  blessedness  ? — 

And  was  He  one  with  this  Jehovah  less 

Because    like    bands    that    bound    three    Persian 

powers, 

And  onward  sped  the  bright  Egyptian  hours, 
The  Hindoo,  after  ages,  learned  to  add 
A  Siva  to  develop  good  from  bad, 
And  Vichnu,  Saviour,  to  his  ancient  One, 
And  form  a  Parabrahma,  such  as  none 
Could  comprehend,  a  Trinity  indeed, 
Unlike,  yet  like  that  of  the  Christian's  creed? 
Ah,  who  that  thinks,  can  yet  believe  it  true 
That  earth  has  not  a  common  Father  ? — who 
Can  deem  that  any  soul  is  wholly  driven 
From  light  that  blesses  all.     Some  ray  has  given 
Some  glimpse  to  each  one  who  has  heavenward 

striven." 

xx. 

I  look'd.     The  shape  had  vanish'd.     In  its  place 
Was  naught  but  smoke,  left  there  like  folds  of  lace 


SEEKING.  157 

About  the  skies,  the  while  the  stars,  aglow, 
Appear'd  like  sparks  to  burst  from  clouds  below, 
Exultant  in  their  freedom.     Then  my  guide 
Had  found  a  path,  rock-bound  on  either  side ; 
And  through  the  rocks,  from  many  a  misty  home, 
Fleet  torrents  dash'd,  and  pass'd  in  spray  and  foam. 
More  genial,  in  more  quiet  nooks  beneath, 
Came   cool,   clear   springs,    amid   green   sod   and 

heath, 

Reflecting  back  the  light  that  fill'd  the  sky. 
Here,  ere  we  far  had  walk'd,  our  feet  drew  nigh 
Rocks   wide-illumin'd.      They  were    flush'd    with 

light 

That  soon,  I  heard,  stream'd  out  across  the  night 
"  From  lamps  that  hung  within  a  sacred  cave 
Carved  round  with  signs  that  Zoroaster  gave 
For  symbols  to  reveal  from  heaven  its  plan 
To  overthrow  the  power  of  Ahriman. 
Well  was  it  too  that  this  great  seer  could  find 
A  truth  that,  while  enlightening  every  mind, 
Could  also  warm  the  numbness  of  the  heart, 
And  show  wise  Mithras,  not  with  threaten 'd  art, 
Forever  striving  to  keep  peace  between 
The  white-mail'd  Ormuzd  and  his  foe  obscene, 
Dark  Ahriman  ;  but  conqueror  where  all  merit 
Named  sinless  from  Tschinevad,  should  inherit 
Unclouded  realms  of  light,  in  which  once  more 
The  good  should  reign  supremely  as  of  yore. 


A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 


XXI. 

"But  Zoroaster  was  not  last,  nor  first, 
To  learn  of  that  by  which  the  world  is  curst. 
What  earthly  soul  must  not  such  shafts  endure 
As  those  of  Typhon,  Loki,  Moisasure  ? 
The  well-made  locks  and  legal  barriers 
By  which  the  best  philanthropist  avers 
Distrust  in  men  ;  the  long  sad  list  of  crimes 
In  lawyer's  lore  ;  the  armies  of  all  times 
With  men  so  elate  to  man  them  ;  anarchy 
Whose  brute  force  prostrates  all  prosperity 
Till  shot  and  steel  instate  it  ;  toil  that  schemes 
For  self  or  steals  another's  ;  rest  that  dreams 
Of  vice  and  wakes  in  vileness  ;  conscience,  care, 
Disease,  and  death,  —  alike  one  record  bear  ;  — 
All  show  the  trace  of  evil  gone  before, 
Whose  trail  is  clear  to  all,  but  clear  yet  more 
To  those  who  strive  most  hard  to  walk  aright, 
Yet  walk  misled  where  but  the  past  sends  light." 

XXII. 

We  left  the  cave  ;  but,  long  its  glancing  beams 
Assail'd  the  trees,  through  boughs  that  draped  the 

streams 

Like  shot-rent  banners,  where  bright  shafts  of  day 
Clove  through  the  yielding  darkness  of  the  way. 
And  then  the  valley  open'd  ;  and,  once  more, 
We  saw  the  mountain-summits  as  before. 


SEEKING.  159 

And  soon,  upon  the  highest  peak  of  all, 

Some  clouds  appear'd.     They  seem'd,  ere  long,  to 

crawl 

Along  the  hights,  and  lengthen  out,  and  show 
Themselves  the  first  of  others  gathering  so, 
Which  soon  closed  up  behind  them.     Then  we  heard 
The  moan  of  forests  that  above  were  stirr'd  ; 
Then  nearer  trees  began  to  quake  and  sway  ; 
And  with  good  cause  !  for  blackening  all  the  way 
A  storm  was  coming  on,  with  an  array 
As  fierce  as  hosts  of  fiends  might  be,  if  sent 
From  hell  to  charge  some  heavenly  battlement. 
As  fiercely,  foully,  did  its  forces  try 
To  break  the  lines  of  light  in  earth  and  sky, 
With  sad  success  !  they  carried  each  redoubt ; 
And,  bounding  down  with  thunder-tread  and  shout, 
On  every  side  their  weapons  flash'd,  and  lash'd 
The  howling  waste  through  which  their  fury  dash'd. 

XXIII. 

Here,  driven  aside  for  refuge  from  the  storm, 
We  came  to  men  in  divers  dress  and  form, 
Who  kneel'd  upon  the  ground  ;  and  at  their  side, 
I  too  had  kneel'd,  but  seeing  this,  my  guide 
Said,  as  he  led  me  toward  a  shelter  near, 
"  These  men  are  kneeling  not  in  love  but  fear, 
Lest,   while    the   storm   sweeps   downward   in   its 
might, 


l6o  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

An  angry  god  be  station'd  on  the  hight. 

Nor  strange  it  is  that  there  their  fancy  rears 

Grim  sceptr'd  shadows  of  their  human  fears. 

Not  strange  the  ancient  Greek  deem'd  peaks  of  his 

The  homes  of  Superhadean  deities  ; 

That  Spartans  dared  not  brave  Olympian  rocks  ; 

Nor  shepherds  mount  Amanus  with  their  flocks  ; 

That  Persians  bow'd  to  Borj,  and  grand  Meru 

Subdued  each  haughty  Brahmin  Kooleenu. 

Not  strange  that  priests  in  many  a  land  have  striven 

To  prove  their  sacred  creeds  and  codes  were  given 

On   mounts  high  o'er  the  earth  as  heaven's  high 

throne  ; 

And  shown  Palladia,  which  their  temples  own, 
Oft  carved  with  laws  as  changeless  as  their  stone, — 
Shown,  lightning-sent,  the  thunder's  Brontia, 
Dread  Dysares  of  hush'd  Arabia, 
Heliagabolus,  Teutonic  rainbow-urns, 
The  image  for  which  robb'd  Pessinus  yearns, 
And  countless  other  symbols,  all  received, 
Like  Israel's,  from  the  sky,  as  was  believed. 
But,  think  now,  when  the  winds  most  fiercely  blow, 
And  thunders  roar,  which  is  the  man's  worst  foe, — 
Self  ? — or  the  lightning  lighting  up  his  woe  ? 
Which  one  of  old  to  conscience  was  it  spoke, — 
Self  ? — or  the  thunder  that  its  fears  awoke  ? 
And  when  the  sinner  felt  his  death  was  due 
To  One  who  own'd  and  claim'd  his  living  too, 


SEEKING.  l6l 

From  what   source   in  which  love   could   not   be 

shown 

Came  forth  the  thought  that  weakness  could  atone 
For  its  own  sin  by  using,  not  its  own, 
But  other  lives  ? — and  how  man's  conscience  prized 
The  peace  that  came  where  these  were  sacrificed, 
What  witness  bear  the  altars,  crimson-clad, 
From  Baal's,  to  Julian's  Tauroboliad  !  " 

XXIV. 

"You  yield,"  I  interposed,  "much  reverence 

To  heathen  worship."     "  Ay,  for  in  a  sense, 

All  worship,"  said  he,  "  springs  from  what  is  true. 

For  if  to  sin  it  ever  could  be  due, 

Could  grafts  of  true  religion  flourish  now 

Upon  the  old  religious  nature's  bough  ? 

But  if,  in  spite  of  tendencies  to  sin, 

We  still  believe  men's  motives  pure  within, 

Then  all  that  God  has  made  appears  to  be — 

Be  leaf,  limb,  flower,  or  fruit  the  part  we  see — 

Some  perfect  part  still  of  life's  perfect  tree. 

Believe  me,  there  is  faith  so  full  and  deep 

That  all  the  surface-doubts  that  o'er  it  sweep 

Are  fog-banks  to  its  ocean, — fill  the  skies 

Amid  inactive  hours,  but  shift  and  rise 

With  each  new  change  that  brings  a  sun  or  storm. 

Our  mortal  doubts  are  conjured  up  by  form, 

Not  substance,  when  weak  insight  fails  to  reach 


1 62  A    LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Beneath  the  vapory  whiffs  of  human  speech. 
They  come  to  him  whose  wars  are  waged  at  words, 
A  knight,  who  at  some  whirring  windmill  girds 
To  wound  the  wind  that  whirls  it,  nor  will  know 
That,  back  of  all  this  realm  of  sound  and  show, 
A  subtle,  unseen  spirit  works,  which  all 
Material  means  are  far  too  weak  and  small 
To  hold  or  image  ;  that  the  spirit's  life 
Has  power  within  it  to  survive  all  strife 
Of  forms,  at  best,  but  fashion'd  from  the  dust, 
Whose   changing   creeds   are  not   men's   constant 

trust. 

So  better  did  our  spirits  not  despise 
Their  fellows.     Under  each  most  foul  disguise 
That  e'er  deserved  a  prophet's  curse  or  sighs, 
The  truth  may  lurk,  and  not  be  wholly  mute, 
But  teach  of  love,  sin's  heaven-crown'd  substitute, 
And  faith,  and  hope,  and  life,  by  which  men  rise 
From  step  to  step  to  all  the  soul  can  prize." 

xxv. 

While  thus  he  spoke,  the  skies  had  clear'd  once 

more, 

And  through  a  mountain-clove,  as  through  a  door 
Hung  green  at  Christmas  time,  far  down  below 
A  fair  vale  open'd  ;  and  we  strove  to  go 
Where  all  could  well  be  view'd ;  then  reach'd  a  place 
Cloud-high  above  a  plain,  where  rose  apace 


SEEKING.  163 

A  flood,  and  swept  around  the  hills  like  that 

Which  once  encircled  lonely  Ararat, 

When  first  that  flood  had  ceased,  long  wonder'd  at, 

The  while  men  spoke  by  different  names  of  one 

Seisithrus,  Noah,  or  Deucalion, 

And  signs  in  every  land  of  ship  and  dove 

Recall'd  the  flood  and  all  the  Father's  love. 

We  stood  there  long,  and  watch'd  the  watery  strife. 

Then,  where  more  danger  came  to  threaten  life, 

He  pointed  out  as  Typhon  and  his  wife 

Dark  forms  whose  crafty  steps  in  caution  pass'd 

Amid  high  bushes  bending  in  the  blast. 

Anon,  they  push'd  a  chest  out  o'er  the  storm 

Which  spell-bound  held  Osiris's  fair  form, 

The  savior  of  the  race  they  would  destroy. 

Their  deed  perform'd,  they  turn'd  with  guilty  joy 

And  sped  away ;  but  where  the  flood  made  green 

The  shores  it  laved,  great  Thoth,  with  glances  keen 

Had  come  to  stay  its  rise.     And  scarce  his  face 

Had  turn'd  to  note  their  deed,  ere  toward  the  place 

A  third  form  moved.     'T  was  veil'd  in  mystic  light, 

But  through  the  veil,  anon,  there  met  our  sight 

Fair  eyes  that  shone  behind  some  surface  tears 

Less  dimm'd  than  starlight  when  the  rain-cloud 

clears. 

In  spite  of  grief  dishevelling  every  tress, 
How  beautiful  was  Isis  in  distress  ! 
She  sought  her  spouse  Osiris,  help'd  in  this 


164  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

By  faithful  but  abortive  Anubis  ; 

And   soon,   the  while  she  learn'd  the  truth  from 

Thoth, 

Prov'd  how  the  gods  can  love  whom  they  betroth. 
The  surging  storm  within  her  flush'd  her  face, 
Dash'd   sparkling   to   her   eyes,    and   sway'd   with 

grace 

Her  frame,  which,  at  the  pulses'  overflow, 
Thrill'd  visibly  to  feel  the  force  below. 
She  waved  her  hand  toward  heaven.     The  winds 

were  hush'd, 

Light  burst  the  sky  ;  and  waves  that  wildly  rush'd 
Against  our  mount,  fell  backward  with  the  tide  ; 
While  far  away,  across  the  waters  wide, 
Appear'd  safe  on  the  shore  the  missing  chest 
Which  those  receding  waves  had  left  at  rest. 

XXVI. 

"  Her  sacred  lips  have  prophesied,  anew," 
My  guide  said,  as  the  vision  sank  from  view, 
"  The  time  for  Horus  to  avenge  and  save 
The  wrong'd  Osiris,  rising  from  his  grave 
To  call  upon  his  followers  on  the  earth 
To  take  his  name,  and  share  in  his  new  birth. 
How  oft  of  old  such  prophesies  have  cheer'd 
The  hearts  of  men,  as  in  their  sky  appear'd 
Some  rainbow  to  remind  them  of  that  love 
Which  girdled  Noah's  world,  and  still  above 


SEEKING.  165 

And  round  about  them,  saves  from  sadder  waves 

Than  ever  closed  above  mere  earthly  graves  ! 

How  oft  in  ages  past  have  men  been  told 

Of  one  triumphant  in  the  days  of  old, — 

Some  Buddha,  Caesar,  Arthur,  who  should  spring 

From  death  to    be  once  more  earth's  more   than 

king,— 

The  dream  of  art  that  struggles  to  reveal 
Its  form  in  marble  pure  as  its  ideal, 
The  dream  of  faith  that  looks  in  him  to  find 
The  way,  the  truth,  the  life  of  all  mankind. 

XXVII. 

"  If  this,  indeed,  of  other  men  were  true, 

What  profit  then,"  I  asked  him,  "had  the  Jew?" — 

"  Much  everyway,  but  chiefly,"  answer'd  he, 

"  He  had  the  oracles,  believed  to  be, 

Amid  the  ignorance  of  surrounding  night, 

An  earnest  ever  of  a  coming  light. 

God  chose  this  race,  you  say,  but  did  His  charge 

Of  it  make  Him  neglect  the  world  at  large  ? 

Might   not    the    Spirit   speak   through  laws  made 

known 

Within  each  heart  ?     Were  these  reveal'd  alone 
Within  the  written  word  ?     Might  not  His  will, 
Intent  on  purposes  He  would  fulfil 
Through  human  means,  at  first  selections  make, 
And  guard  the  truth, — not  wholly  for  the  sake 


1 66  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Of  Israel ;  nor  for  an  exclusive  cause, — 
By  one  peculiar  people's  life  and  laws  ? 
And  where  in  all  of  history,  tho'  one  traces 
Amid  all  kinds  of  castes  and  clans  and  races, 
Is  ever  found  a  stabler  element  ? — 
Of  all  the  men  against  mutation  bent, 
In  spite  of  court  or  church  or  sword  or  flame, 
But  one,  the  Jew,  forever  stays  the  same. 

XXVIII. 

"  Yet  even  he  could  live,  as  years  passed  on, 

His  destiny  forgetting,  and,  anon, 

Like  Esau,  sell  for  gains  of  little  worth 

The  mission  that  was  his  by  right  of  birth, — 

To  minister  to  all  men  ;  and  could  call 

His  nation's  Lord  the  guardian,  not  of  all, 

But  of  the  Jew, — tho'  later  prophecies 

Had  always  join'd  the  Gentile's  name  to  his. 

And  thus  he  turn'd  from  Him  whose  power  above 

Had  ne'er  reveal'd  partiality  of  love, 

Nor  truth  that  was  not  some  development 

Of  promises  to  all  earth's  children  sent 

When  earth's  first   parents   look'd   for  one  whose 

worth 

Should  crush  the  sin-born  serpent  of  the  earth  : — 
He  turn'd  from  Him,  whose  ministers,  I  ween, 
Urge  none  in  heathen  lands  to  choose  between 
The  good  and  ill,  without  attesting  so 


SEEKING.  167 

That  God's  good  Spirit  strives  with  all  below. 
If  Jews,  who  read  His  law  and  sacrificed, 
Were  saved  by  faith  in  Him  ;  the  uncircumcised 
With  faith  in  Him  would  scarce  unheeded  go, 
Because  they  but  the  higher  law  could  know. 

XXIX. 

"  Why,  think  you,  that,  of  old,  divine  command 

Sent  only  Jonah  to  a  heathen  land  ? 

Why,  that  God's  prophets  could  high  praise  allot 

To  some  who  yet  of  Israel's  God  knew  not  ? 

Was  Paul  a  sophist  at  Mar's  Hill  to  own 

That  Greece  could  worship  Him,  altho'  unknown  ? 

Or  did  the  Christ  say,  but  to  play  with  truth 

And  please  that  vain  Samaria,  forsooth, 

That  not  within  Jerusalem  alone 

Was  truth  confined,  for  every  land  could  own 

The  spirit's  truthful  worship  ?     Might  not  He 

Whose  good  accepts  the  good  where'er  it  be, 

And  reads  the  inmost  motives  of  the  mind, 

In  'every  nation,  people,  kindred,'  find, 

Thron'd  e'en  behind  the  idols  of  each  race, 

Ideals  that  human  art  could  not  make  base  ? 

How  sad  if  not  !     This  world's  theology 

Scarce  blows  a  trumpet  causing  piety 

To  kneel,  ere  out  from  opening  mystery 

Sweeps  forth,  full  mail'd,  the  world's  idolatry. 

It  is  not  he  of  heathen  name  alone 


1 68  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Who  bows  his  knee  to  gilt  and  wood  and  stone. 
Where  live  the  souls  who  seek  God's  living  truth 
Whom  priest-craft  does  not  find,  and  praise,  for 
sooth, 

Its  own  deeds,  which  it  claims  must  lead  the  way 
And  meditate  for  all  men  while  they  pray  ? 
Alas  for  man,  thus  made  to  look  to  man  ! — 
Just  charity  with  kindlier  eye  might  scan, 
Amid  Athenian  gods,  a  Socrates, 
Who  would  not  bow  in  spirit  e'en  to  these." 

XXX. 

While  thus  he  spoke,  I,  dead  to  sight  and  sound, 
Had  walk'd  abstracted,  till  I  mark'd  around 
Strange  shadows  quivering  over  all  the  ground, 
The  which,  anon,  far  darker  would  be  made. 
They  startled  me ;  for  what  had  caused  the  shade  ? 
No  tree  nor  cliff  about  us  rose  between 
The  moon-light  and  ourselves  to  form  a  screen. 
But  when  I  glanc'd  above,  there  met  my  sight 
As  high  as  clouds  could  be,  as  wild  a  light 
As  ever  man  could  see, — light  coming  not 
From  moon  or  stars ;  one  could  not  judge  from  what. 
As  lightning  were,  if  constant,  so  it  glared 
Athwart  the  sky,  and  tore  and  cross'd  and  flared. 

XXXI. 

That  strange  scene  lasted  long  ;  but  yet  the  moor. 
In  time  came  forth  again.     Then  climbing  soon 


SEEKING.  169 

Some  mighty  ledges,  we  at  last  survey'd 

From  distant  heights  the  forms    that  caused  the 

shade  : 

We  saw  the  giant  ash  Yggdrasil  now 
That  loom'd  with  many  a  thick  and  swaying  bough 
Above  the  plain  through  which  our  feet  had  pass'd. 
But  think  not  leaves  that  had  the  shadows  cast 
Had  bridg'd  but  our  short  pathway,  and  no  more. 
The  limbs  were  leagues  in  length,  and  rose  to  soar 
Above  the  earth  like  mountain-forests  wide, 
Yet  cloud-borne,  needing  not  a  mountain-side. 
They  cover'd  all  the  north,  yet  hung  as  high 
Above  the  darkness  of  the  western  sky  ; 
And  far  off  through  the  east  they  stretch'd  away 
Till  flushing  at  the  touch  of  coming  day. 
Ah,  where  was  ever  aught  like  this  tree  seen  ! 
Beside  it,  a  mere  wind-bent  twig,  I  ween 
Was  that  Aswatha  by  the  Hindoo  known, 
Or  Persia's  Gogard,  or  the  Zampuh  grown 
In  Thibet — figured  o'er  with  mystic  signs 
Which  made  but  little  wise  their  wise  divines — 
Or  Eden's  too,  reputed  to  have  grown 
The  seeds  of  these  through  every  nation  sown. 

xxxn. 

Of  them  my  guide  discours'd,  the  while  we  scann'd 
Yggdrasil's  roots  ;  one  in  the  west  where  band 
The  fiends  of  darkness  in  their  foul  Mistland  : 


170  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  there  the  serpent  lies  like  lengthen'd  night, 

And  gnaws  the  bark,  nor  sates  his  appetite  ; 

And   one   was  in   the    north    where    Frost-Kings 

dwell, 

And  drafts  of  wisdom  drink  from  Mimir's  well, 
While  ever  in  its  crystal  depths  below 
The  cool  brain  sees  the  mirror'd  pole-star  glow  ; 
And  one  was  in  the  east,  hard  by  the  morn 
And  Urdar-fountain,  where  the  patient  Norn 
Perceives  the  present,  future,  and  the  past, 
Nor  slights  the  small,  nor  shudders  at  the  vast. 
Thence,  heaved  from  earth  to  heaven,  bridged  o'er 

the  dark, 

The  rainbow-bifrost  bends,  on  which  we  mark 
Its  warden,  Heimdall,  who  his  vigil  keeps 
With  marvellous  ears,  which,  even  while  he  sleeps 
With  birdlike  lightness,  hear  the  grasses  grow 
And  wool  on  sheep  ten  thousand  miles  below  ! 
Beyond  his  place  uploom  high  Asgard-homes 
Of  gods,  and  Gladsheim  with  its  golden  domes. 
There  too,  along  Idavollr's  wondrous  fields, 
Vingolf  appears,  which  hush'd  retirement  yields 
For  Frigga  and  her  suite, — a  wilderness 
Of  lawns  and  lanes  and  arbors  numberless, 
Dim  nights  of  groves  and  glowing  days  of  flowers, 
And  lakes  and  streams  and  fairy  fountain  showers, — 
A  place  where  wish  could  every  want  confess, 
And  all  desire  be  drugged  in  drowsiness. 


SEEKING.  I/I 

XXXIII. 

But  while  I  gazed  upon  that  scene,  behold, 
A  storm  arose.     Its  thunders,  while  they  roll'd, 
Woke  Heimdall,  who,  anon,  on  Gulltopp  rode 
Like  lightning  to  Valhalla,  the  abode 
Of  mighty  Odin.     Then  each  hill  and  plain 
Seem'd  filled  with  gods,  who  moved  with  signs  of 

pain. 

Here  Tyr  uplifts,  like  some  vast  mountain-side, 
His  heaven-high  shield  that  shakes  with  wounded 

pride. 

There  Ullur  aims  his  bow  to  test  his  art, 
And  meteors  through  remotest  regions  dart. 
Now  Braji  leaves  his  wife,  Iduna  fair, 
For  Forseti ;  and  toward  them  in  despair 
Comes  Freyja  with  her  plaintful  team  of  gray, 
And  Vidar,  Vali,  Njord,  all  join  the  fray, 
While  through  the  north,  like  an  Aurora,  gleam 
The  spears  of  Skadi's  troops  that  nearer  stream. 
Far  up  in  Hlidskjalf,  towering  o'er  the  crowds, 
Like  some  fair  morning  sunburst  o'er  the  clouds, 
Bright  Odin  stands,  and  prompt  at  his  command 
Convulsions  dash  the  sea  and  shake  the  land, 
Where  comes  great  Thor,  whose  chariot  sweeps  the 

sky, 

On  wheels  of  fire  far  flashing  as  they  fly, 
Eclipsing  all  those  rival  hosts  of  light 
As  thunder-storms  blot  out  the  stars  of  night. 


1/2  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXXIV. 

But  what  had  roused  the  gods  ? — I  gazed  below, 

And  there  beheld  a  mighty  waste  of  woe. — 

The  serpent,  Nidhogg,  with  new  malice  lash'd 

The  sea  surrounding  all  things,  till  it  dash'd 

O'er  all  the  shores.    The  great  tree's  giant  form, 

Amid  the  waves  and  winds  of  that  wild  storm, 

Sway'd  to  and  fro,  till  with  a  mighty  crash 

Its  trunk  was  rent,  the  while  a  blinding  flash 

Of  lightning  tore  apart  the  upper  sky, 

And  fired  the  great  tree's  limbs  that  hung  on  high, 

As  if  an  orb  of  flame,  or  comet  whirl'd 

Against  what  might  become  a  bursting  world, 

Tho'  yet  the  crash  came  not.     Its  flashing  drew 

Fire-genii  from  the  depths  who  fiercely  flew 

To  tear  the  bifrost  down.     More  dread  than  these, 

Huge  giants  weeding  up  the  shaken  trees, 

And  rending  from  the  earth  the  crumbling  cliffs, 

Press  toward  the  gods,  who  through  the  smoke  that 

lifts, 

Advance  their  blazing  lines  !     Of  no  avail 
Is  now  their  show  of  strength  !  For  once  they  fail  ; 
For  once  can  force  more  dread  than  gods'  assault ; 
And,  almost  ere  they  charge,  the  columns  halt ; 
Then  back  through  many  a  lengthening  league  they 

roll; 

Then,  wheeling,  bend  their  rivals  like  a  scroll. 
Borne  back  again,  for  one  more  charge  they  form, 


SEEKING.  1/3 

As  terrible  as  every  earthly  storm 
Concenter'd  into  one.     On,  on  they  bound, 
And  meet — O  soul,  to  have  outlived  that  sound ! — 
Nor  heaven  nor  hell  could  stand  so  fierce  a  shock  ; 
But  all  things, — god  and  giant,  star  and  rock, 
And  sky  and  earth,  with  bursting  fires  were  hurl'd 
Like  lava  through  the  air  !  then  all  the  world 
Seem'd  smoke,  so  dense  I  felt  it  on  me  press. 
Then  still  was  all,  and  all  was  nothingness. 

xxxv. 

How  long  this   gloom   had   place,  no  man  could 

tell. 

Bewilder'd  by  the  scene  and  shock  I  fell, 
And  swoon'd  away.     When  came  again  the  light, 
My  guide  was  by  me,  and  he  calm'd  my  fright. 
"  Note  now,"  he  said,  "  the  end,  and  lay  to  heart 
How  like  seeks  like,  and  good  and  evil  part." 

XXXVI. 

He  bade  me  mark  then  a  commotion  slight 

Amid  the  clouds  about  us  which  the  light 

Would  here  and  there  flash  through.     And,  gazing 

long, 

I  saw  two  currents  flowing  deep  and  strong. 
The  one  pass'd  up,  and  drew  from  every  side 
All  bright  things  after  it ;  the  other  hied 
With  all  the  darker  forms  toward  depths  below, — 


1/4  A   LIFE  IJV  SONG. 

Forms  it  would  tear  from  all  the  air,  as  though 
Some  chemic  force  would  thus  precipitate 
Each  essence  to  a  predetermined  fate. 
And  soon  I  seem'd, — I  wist  not  how — to  heed 
With  every  mote  that  rose  or  fell  some  deed, 
And,  clinging  to  each  deed,  a  shadowy  frame  ; 
Then,  as  if  causing  each,  real  spirits  came, 
Form'd  like  the  shadows,  in  all  parts  the  same. 
Some  sank  below  ;  and  some,  with  looks  of  love, 
Would  follow  all  frames  like  their  own  above. 

XXXVII. 

To  what  place  moved  they  ?  As  their  forms  pass'd  by 

I  gazed  above,  and  through  the  open  sky, 

Amid  encircling  glory,  could  descry 

A  city  rear'd  for  those  whose  deeds  were  right, 

Beyond  all  beauty  beautiful.     The  sight 

No  man  could  see,  and  deem  one  other  bright. 

All  earth's  light,  pass'd  through  one  lens,  could  but 

blot 

The  brilliance  of  those  pinnacles  ;  and  not 
In  all  things  else  that  e'er  my  soul  could  awe 
Was  aught  suggested  like  what  then  I  saw. 

XXXVIII. 

How  could  I  turn  now  from  a  scene  like  this 
And  gaze  below,  and  thus  forget  my  bliss  ? — 
Yet  soon  my  eyes  were  lured  to  seek  the  place 


SEEKING.  175 

Where  souls  descending  went.     This  made  me  face 

Not  what  I  so  had  fear'd.     I  could  but  see 

A  far  off  brightness,  which  appear'd  to  me 

To  rift  the  shadows  of  surrounding  night, 

And  fill  at  once  both  heaven  and  earth  with  light. 

Then,  too,  I  noticed  that,  though  all  the  world 

To  swift  entire  destruction  had  seem'd  hurl'd, 

That  sad  scene  passing  by,  had  left  me  still 

Unharm'd,  and  standing  yet  upon  the  hill. 

"  Whence  comes  that  light  ?"    I  ask'd  then  of  my 

guide. 

"  Go  we  to  seek  the  source  ? "     "  Nay,"  he  replied, 
As  it  illumin'd  all  his  face,  and  drew 
Rays  from  his  eyes  like  those  in  morning  dew  : 
"  Like  lesser  lights  this  light  of  life  is  nigh 
To  see  by,  not  to  handle,  lest  we  die. 
And  while  it  makes  the  paths  before  us  bright 
'T  is  our  work  to  advance  from  sight  to  sight." 

XXXIX. 

Then,  moving  forward  soon,  we  reached  a  ledge 
And  pass'd  around  it,  and  the  sharp  steep  edge 
Grew  skyward  back  of  us,  until  its  hight 
Had  hid  what  now  my  guide  declared  "  the  light 
By  means  of  which,  e'en  through  the  night's  dim  air, 
We  had  divined  those  visions  everywhere. 
But  now,"  he  said,  "this  mountain  back  of  us 
Towers  up  above  a  vale  not  lighted  thus." 


A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 


XL. 

With  this,  he  led  me  onward,  where  the  gloom 
Hung  thick  o'er  all  things  like  a  veil  of  doom. 
But  through  this  veil  we  had  anon  discern'd 
Bare  fields  but  seldom  by  the  plowshare  turn'd  ; 
Where,  closely  guarded,  every  human  hut 
Against  wild  beasts  or  wilder  men  seem'd  shut. 
The    men,  ill-shaped,   bore   features    none    could 

trust  ; 

And  lived  for  plunder,  and  to  pander  lust  ; 
Nor  fear'd  for  aught  save  chieftains,  who  would  rise 
And  lead  them  forth  to  battle  where  their  cries 
Would  fill  the  air,  the  while,  with  brawn  that  bled, 
They  fell'd  their  foes,  who  yielded,  sometimes  dead, 
Or,  worse  than  dead,  were  into  bondage  led, 
And  loaded  with  huge  weights,  and  scourg'd  and 

spurn'd, 

And  ever  kept  in  fear,  until  they  turn'd 
And  took  revenge,  and  thus  brought  on,  once  more, 
A  fiercer  fight.     I  yearn'd  then  to  implore 
My  guide  to  take  me  thence  ;  but,  ere  I  spoke, 
Off  through  the  clouds  that  fell  apart,  there  broke 
A  light  like  dawn's  that  made  the  gloom  there  cease, 
And  burst  like  sunlight  o'er  a  land  of  peace. 
Its  fields  were  till'd,  its  home-doors  open  wide, 
And,  as  the  day  broke  o'er  it  like  a  tide, 
Face  after  face  awoke  to  smiles  that  blush'd, 
Far  lovelier  than  the  clouds  the  sunrise  flush'd. 


SEEKING.  177 

XLI. 

"  This  light  so  blessed,"  said  my  guide,  "  to  see, 
Shines  o'er  a  land  where  truth  has  made  men  free. 
For  all  men,  to  their  own  best  natures  true, 
Learn  soon  to  let  truth  rule  their  fellows  too. 
So  here  the  chains  that  on  the  bondmen  clank 
Are  loosed,  and  slaves  may  reach  the  noblest  rank  ; 
And  every  field  grows  richer  for  the  toil 
Of  yeomen  working  well  their  own-held  soil. 
Their  very  king,  at  last,  has  come  to  plan 
The  common  welfare  like  a  common  man. 
See  too  where  ships  for  savage  isles  are  steer'd, 
How  soon  the  church  and  school-house  have  been 

rear'd  ! 

E'en  trade  is  made  by  winds  from  heaven  above 
To  join  men  in  the  bonds  of  trust  and  love. 
But  think  you  gains  that  thus  bring  all  men  good 
Are  prized  by  all  ? " — And  then  from  where  we  stood 
He  bade  me  closely  watch  the  throngs  I  saw. 
"  Not  all  have  spirits  to  discern  God's  law 
Fulfill'd  in  what  inspires  to  lives  of  truth 
The  soul  God  rules,"  he  said.     "  This  age,  forsooth, 
Is  like  the  Christ's.     Untaught  that  powers  divine 
Work  most  within,  it  seeks  a  form,  a  sign." 

XLII. 

With  this  he  pointed  to  a  path  in  view 

Where  many  flock'd,  and  still  the  number  grew. 


1/8  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

A  loud  disputing  throng  they  were,  where  each 
Seem'd  bent  to  draw  from  all  within  his  reach 
A  train  of  followers,  trying  as  he  talk'd 
To  make  men  leave  the  friends  with  whom  they 

walk'd 

And  join  with  his.     The  crowd  thus  moved  along, 
Was  borne  at  last,  where  all  the  streaming  throng 
Spread,  sea-like,  surging  here  toward  towering  walls 
Of  vast  cathedrals,  there  toward  smallest  halls, 
And  proved  in  various  ways  their  piety, — 
Bow'd,  kneel'd  or  pass'd  each  doorway  silently, 
Some  clasping  there  the  hands  of  friends,  and  some 
Their  own  hands,  as  if  waiting  love  to  come. 

XLIII. 

While  still  we  watch'd  them,  one  who  came  to  us 
Cried  out  in  rage  :  "  This  age,  so  impious, 
Dethrones  the  Lord,  and  boasts  it  can  be  free. 
As  if  the  truth  He  sends  from  heaven  could  be 
Reveal'd  by  man,  it  rends,  in  doubtful  search, 
The  forms  that  once  made  one  the  one  true  church, — 
A  church  the  home  of  all  that  hope  has  taught, 
Or  faith  has  felt,  or  love  and  grace  have  wrought, 
On  earthly  floods  the  ark  that  saves  the  soul. 
How  blest  its  halls,  and  its  divine  control, 
Where  youths'  unfolding  natures  learn  to  pray, 
And  move  through  life  in  heaven's  appointed  way  ! 
How  blest  its  reverent  rites, — the  quiet  throng, 


SEEKING.  179 

The  pealing  organ  and  the  mutual  song  ! 
And,  after  praises,  prayers  and  wise  advice, 
The  still  walk  home,  and  earthly  paradise  ! 
Accursed  surely  is  their  heresy, 
Who  would  make  less  its  high  authority. 
Accursed  would  the  world  be,  did  their  strife 
Throne  lawlessness  above  mere  lawless  life." 

XLIV. 

"  And  are  you  sure  that  what  you  prize  rules  less 
Because  of  that  which  gives  your  soul  distress  ?  " 
My  guide  replied  then. — "  There  are  those  who 

claim 

This  very  freedom  best  fulfils  His  aim 
Who  heads  the  church.     He  sought  to  move  man 
kind 

Through  moving  unseen  springs  of  love  behind 
Man's  thought  and  deed.     His  church,  assuredly, 
Were  but  like  Him  if  seeking  unity 
Not  in  the  mask  that  hides  whatever  strife 
Disturbs  the  soul,  but  in  the  inward  life .  — 
You  fear  that  skies  aglow  with  liberty 
Attend  some  sun  that  sets  in  anarchy. 
Alas,  too  often  men  mistake  the  light 
Of  coming  day  for  that  of  coming  night. 
But  trust  me,  friend,  wherever  lifting  skies 
Impel  deep  slumbering  souls  to  wake  and  rise 


180  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  press  toward  nobler  things  that  then  they  view, 
The  church  or  nation  that  there  lets  them  do 
Their  best  to  make  their  best  ideals  true, 
Brings  forth  more  worth  from  every  character 
Than  all  the  rites  and  codes  that  ever  were. 
God's  laws  are  inward,  and  they  most  control 
Those  left  most  free  to  serve  what  moves  the  soul ; 
But  what  earth's  rulers  force  men  to  fulfil 
Oft  flows  from  but  one  headstrong  human  will." 

XLV. 

"  Alas,"  rejoin'd  the  first,  "  for  truth  you  search, 

Yet  find  no  good,  nor  profit  in  the  church." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  other,  "  much  good,  every  way  ; 

As  was  the  synagogue,  our  church  to-day 

Is  bless'd  by  truth  well  proved  ;  but  can  you  deem 

That  all  the  springs  that  flow  to  swell  the  stream 

Of  ever-living  truth  are  far  away 

As  where  fair  Eden's  first  clear  water  lay  ? 

Are  there  no  nearer  mountain-sides  and  plains, 

O'erflowing  with  their  stores  from  present  rains  ? 

Is  there  no  rock  struck  now  by  prophet's  hands 

To  meet  in  barren  fields  the  new  demands 

Of  thirsting  souls,  who  find  the  stream  of  thought 

Polluted  by  the  debris  caught  and  brought 

From   long  past   ages  ?     Think  you,   friend,  that 

naught 
Has  dimm'd  with  new  alloy  the  modern  phrase, 


SEEKING.  l8l 

And  that  it  still  makes  clear  thought's  ancient  phase? 

Nay,  may  not  one's  own  thinking,  too,  debase 

The  soul's  pure  springs  of  God's  inspiring  grace  ? 

If  so,  can  one  be  wise,  and  take  no  thought 

Of  what  another  spirit  has  been  taught  ? 

Believe  me,  whatsoe'er  has  pass'd  away, 

Of  temple-service  or  of  priestly  sway, 

'T  is  well  the  church,  our  synagogue,  remains 

Wherein  each  soul  from  other  souls  obtains 

Interpretations,  varied  with  each  mood, 

Of  truth  that  else  might  not  be  understood. 

No  single  man  could  know,  so  Israel  thought, 

The  whole  mind  of  the  Spirit.     Hence  each  sought 

To  supplement  his  truth  by  charity 

Which  heeds  what  all  report.     How  righteously 

Could  we  in  all  that  all  men  know  rejoice  ! 

They  serve  the  church  who  serve  the  Spirit's  voice." 

XLVI. 

To  this  the  stranger  answer'd  with  the  plea, 
"  So  many  claim  it,  where  can  this  voice  be  ?  " 
"  A  nation  may  be  form'd,"  my  guide  replied, 
"  Of  those  whom  race  and  circumstance  divide, 
And  yet  be  one,  if  one  power  hold  control, 
Enforcing  general  laws  that  rule  the  whole. 
You  deem  the  church  divided  ?  Who  are  you, 
So  sure  how  God  may  best  preserve  in  view 
The  truth  that  love  must  rule  in  all  things  true  ? 


1 82  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Our  faith  in  forms  may  trust  a  God-void  shrine, 
Where  nothing  that  is  worshipped  is  divine  ; 
May  look  to  human  systems,  made  to  fit 
Not  all  the  truth,  but  only  part  of  it, 
To  finite  frames  wherein  the  infinite  lies 
Defined  so  well  that,  in  the  compromise 
Betwixt  the  faith  and  form,  whate'er  we  view, 
Contracted,  clipp'd,  and  only  half  way  true, 
Is  wholly  harm'd.     Ah,  when  shall  mortals  learn 
That  truth  is  grander  than  the  earthly  urn 
To  which  they  would  confine  it,  or  conceive 
That  wisest  laws  in  states  or  churches  leave 
Each  man  to  govern  rightly  his  own  soul 
And  thus,  through  practice,  nurture  self-control  ? 
When  shall  men  strive  to  find  a  wiser  way 
Of  warfare,  than,  with  hostile  ranks  at  bay, 
To  turn  from  these,  and  with  the  corps  contend 
That  on  their  own  side  their  own  cause  defend  ? 
What  if  corps-colors  differ  ?    Loyal  hearts 
May  cherish  and  advance  through  better  arts 
Their  church, — the   cause  of  truth  ;    for  naught, 

forsooth, 
Thrives  less  where  force  restrains  it  than  the  truth- 

XLVII. 

"  And  truth  the  sovereign  is,  not  speech,  nor  sect. 
Who  love  God's  truth  love  God.     So  I  detect 
That  naught  can  train  more  truthful  piety 


SEEKING.  183 

Than  earnest  thought,  awaiting  patiently 

In  heaven's  own  light  each  heavenly  mystery. 

But  priestcraft  oft  has  tender'd  to  the  soul 

What  so  apportions  out  divine  control 

That  he  who  would  receive  it,  must  profess 

To  know  all  truth  that  heaven  or  earth  can  bless. 

And  yet  can  aught  that  men  serve  reverently 

Be  void  of  deep  dark  voids  of  mystery  ? 

Can  aught  that  leads  our  souls  toward  life  above 

Train  human  worth  by  knowledge  more  than  love  ? 

If  but  to  know,  gave  souls  their  victory, 

Where  were  the  need  of  faith,  hope,  charity  ? 

What  but  the  last  of  these  can  lead  aright 

The  spirits  that  not  yet  can  walk  by  sight  ? 

What  wisest  words  that  angel  lips  could  speak, 

If  void  of  this,  were  ever  else  than  weak  ? " 

XLVIII. 

As  thus  he  spoke  my  eyes  once  more  were  brought 
To  watch  the  place  those  worshippers  had  sought. 
And  soon,  where  stood  some  vast  cathedral  tower, 
Or  church  hid  like  a  cottage  in  a  bower 
Beneath  wide-branching  trees,  anon,  would  pour 
Out  from  a  deep-sunk  porch,  or  opening  door 
An  overflow  of  crowds  that  coursed  inside. 
Some  swept  forth  thus,  like  foam  upon  a  tide, 
Were  borne  to  other  doors  ;  but  many  pass'd 
Out  wholly  from  the  place.     Of  these,  at  last. 


184  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

A  few,  far  drifting  near  to  where  we  stood, 
Proclaim'd  aloud  the  reason  and  the  mood 
That  moved  them  thus.  "  None  know  the  truth," 

they  cried, 
In  tones  that  all  replies  to  them  defied. 

XLIX. 

"We  here,"  one  spokesman  said,  "like  most  I  ween, 
Were  drawn  away  from  saints  of  humble  mien 
To  those  that  seem'd  most  zealous  to  be  seen  ; — 
To  noisy  throngs,  who  pray'd  for  peaceful  boons 
As    if    heaven's    pity    craved    their    shrieks    and 

swoons  ; 

Or  else,  to  preachers  who,  while  crowds  admired, 
Preach'd  what  to  be  admired  thus,  had  inspired." 
"We  heard  intoned,"  another  said,  "a  sound 
Which  print,  pass'd  Providentially  around, 
Reveal'd  to  be  a  weary  train  of  praise. 
Now  priests,  now  choirs  would   chant  ;    but   few 

would  raise 

A  tribute  that  could  voice  all  men's  desire. 
Soft  throats  alone  seem'd  thankful  for  much  hire  ; 
Or  else,  as  if  the  words  were  moved  by  fear, 
Were  wailing  wildly,  in  a  place  made  drear 
By  smoke  and  candles  and  a  soulless  dearth 
Of  light,  as  if  stain'd  windows  by  their  worth 
Could  make  heaven  seem  more  dear  than  such 

earth." 


SEEKING.  185 

"  And  some,  we  saw,"  one  cried,  "  whose  foremost 

care 

Appear'd  the  head, — should  it  be  shorn  of  hair  ? 
Or  never  shorn  ? — or  should  the  head  be  bare  ? 
Or  crown'd  with  hats  whose  brims  were  broad  or 

spare  ? 

Then  all  of  these  were  one  with  those,  we  found, 
Concern'd   to    know    how    saints    could    best    be 

gown'd, — 

In  vestments  rich  or  rude,  as  white  or  bright 
As  daybreak  or  as  dark  or  dull  as  night  ? 
As  if,  forsooth,  a  mere  material  guise 
Could  ever  veil  the  spirit  from  the  eyes 
Of  Him  men  worship,  or,  by  outward  show, 
Atone  for  wrong  still  strong  in  souls  below. 
Can  it  be  true  that  sin  can  disappear 
From  lives  made  right  but  to  the  eye  and  ear  ? 
What  can  their  spirits  be  but  dead,  indeed, 
Who  neither  feel  their  faith  nor  think  their  creed  ?" 

L. 

Thus  with  a  captious,  grave,  or  angry  air 
These  all  had  turn'd  and  left  that  place  of  prayer, 
Where  differing  creeds  and  rites  men  war'd  about 
Had  roused  within  them  but  distaste  or  doubt. 
How  could  there  be  so  much  despondency 
Where  once  hope  sought  for  faith  so  eagerly  ? 
Yet  some  seem'd  wholly  driven  to  despair  ; 
And  fled  afar ;  and,  flying,  hasted  where 


1 86  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Their  pathways  ended  o'er  a  deep  abyss  ; 
And,  ere  they  mark'd  its  unseen  precipice, 
Too  late  to  save  them  from  the  fate  they  fear'd, 
Their  shrieks  rang  out,  and  then  they  disappear'd. 

LI. 

"  Ah,"  sighed  my  guide,  "  whose  wisdom  does  not 

know 

That  earth,  not  heaven,  has  made  religion  so  ? 
With  life  a  mystery  of  mysteries, 
What  comfort  has  the  soul  that  thoughtful  is, 
Except  as  it  may  trust  that  inmost  law 
From  which  all  forms  their  vital  forces  draw  ? 
How  many  forms  may  that  law  yet  make  one  ! 
When  days  are  newly  lighted  by  the  sun, 
The  clouds  it  kindles  in  the  eastern  sky 
Are  but  the  swamp's  foul  vapors  lifted  high, 
And  all  the  brilliance  of  the  lightning's  fire 
Is  forged  from  vapors  oozing  o'er  the  mire. 
So,  when  life's  last  grand  sunrise  gilds  our  night, 
And  heaven's  wide  opening  gates  flash  forth  their 

light, 

Who  knows  what  forms  on  earth  may  be  the  first 
To  catch  the  glories  that  shall  o'er  us  burst  ? 
With  all  our  boasts,  life  is  not  perfect  yet ; 
Nor  are  all  forms  within  which  truth  is  met 
Transparent  to  reveal  its  hidden  worth  ; 
Nor  large  enough  to  hold  it,  when  from  earth 


SEEKING.  187 

It  springs  toward  heaven.     The  safeguards  fram'd 

around 

The  sprout  when  first  it  starts  to  leave  the  ground, 
Now  that  it  presses  upward  and  about 
And  from  its  narrow  frame  is  bursting  out, — 
Can  these  that  held  the  twig  in,  hold  the  tree  ? 
Or  think  you  life  a  force  that  can  endure, 
And  never  change,  nor  ever  grow  mature? 

LII. 

"  At  least,  doubt  not  that  many  an  earnest  mind, 
May  find  pure  truth,  in  spite  of  frames  that  bind 
His  thought  to  forms.     A  publican  may  use 
Vain  rites  that  oft  the  truth  of  heaven  abuse, 
Yet  breathe  through  each  dead  body  of  a  prayer 
Sighs  that  infuse  a  living  spirit  there  ; 
And  he  whose  faith  in  freest  ways  may  roam 
Have  constant  yearnings  for  some  churchly  homa. 
Ah,  they  who  trust  in  God's  most  sovereign  might. 
Find  much  to  do,  if  they  would  do  the  right; 
And  they  who  trust  the  power  of  human  will, 
Oft  fail,  and  feel  their  need  of  mercy  still. 

LUX. 

"  Truth's  warriors  in  a  mighty  host  advance, 
Whose  lines  with  wings  of  infinite  expanse 
Now  rout,  and  now  seem  routed  by  the  foe. 
Smoke-wrapt  amid  the  fight,  no  man  can  know 


1 88  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

If  most  he  should  exult  in  drums  that  beat 

For  forward  movements,  or  for  full  retreat. 

The  line  near  by  him  may  but  backward  roll 

To  shape  the  slow  sure  progress  of  the  whole. 

If  so,  surmising  where  he  can  not  prove 

How  all  things  toward  life's  final  victory  move, 

His  faith  need  not  lose  all  its  confidence, 

Tho*  it  surrender  every  old  defence. 

Heaven's  truth  were  small,  if  naught  it  brings  could 

be 
Outside  the  mental  range  of  such  as  we. 

LIV. 

"  And  what  are  theories  worth,  except  so  far 
As  each  can  make  men  better  than  they  are  ? 
When  souls  have  grown  to  truth,  their  nurture  needs, 
Ere  growth  can  pass  beyond  it,  growing  creeds. 
But  e'en   with   these,   what  words  that  influence 

choice 

Can  sound  all  accents  of  the  '  still  small  voice '  ? 
Can  human  phases  fully  satisfy 
Divine  requirements  ?     Let  men  only  sigh 
For  God  as  Father  in  the  home  above, 
Or  as  the  earthly  Son  whose  life  was  love, 
Or  as  the  Spirit  sent  to  woo  the  soul ; 
Still  may  the  truth,  though  not  all  known,  control, 
Howe'er  their  lips  may  limit  and  confine  it, 
Their  whole  lives,  while  they  struggle  to  divine  it 


SEEKING.  189 

Let  thought-built  systems  fail  each  modern  test ; 
On  truth  beneath  all  systems  faith  may  rest, 
On  truth  unshaken  by  earth's  changing  facts, 
Inspiring  pure  desires  and  generous  acts, 
Where  spirit  reigns  alone,  and  through  all  creeds 
Impels  all  good  men  toward  the  self-same  deeds, 
Who  learn  that  though  their  words  be  contrary, 
All  worthy  souls  have  inward  sympathy. 

LV. 

"  And  yet,  will  all  men's  thinking  never  find 

That  which  can  satisfy  the  questioning  mind  ? — 

Will  never  a  Magellan  sail  around 

This  grander  globe  of  truth,  till  he  have  found 

How  paths  that  part  most  widely  sometimes  tend 

To  bring  two  souls  together  in  the  end  ? 

Our  human  thought,  whose  efforts,  aim'd  afar, 

Have  learn'd  so  much  of  sun  and  moon  and  star, — 

'T  is  time  it  tell  us  mortals  what  we  are. 

'T  is  time  our  wandering  world's  philosophy 

Discern  life's  inward  bond  of  unity, — 

Not  like  the  Greek  in  mere  material  fire, 

But  in  the  soul's  unquenchable  desire. 

'T  is  time  it  weigh  the  worth  of  arguments, 

That  treat  each  consciousness  with  reverence  ; 

And,  starting  with  the  soul's  first  certainty, 

Evolve  in  all  its  order'd  symmetry 

The  universal  law  of  sympathy. 


IQO  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

*T  is  time  the  Spirit  of  the  living  force, 

Whose  currents  through  the  frame  of  nature  course, 

And  make  the  earth  about,  and  stars  above, 

The  body  and  abode  of  infinite  Love, 

That  breathes  its  own  breath  through  our  waiting 

frames 

With  each  fresh  breeze  that  blows,  and  ever  aims 
Our  lesser  lives  where  all  we  call  advance 
But  plays  within  its  lap  of  circumstance, — 
'T  is  time  the  Spirit  should  be  known,  in  truth, 
Inspiring  hope  in  age  and  faith  in  youth, 
And  in  us  all  that  charity  benign, 
Which  in  us  all  would  make  us  all  divine." 

LVI. 

He  paused,  then  said,  "  Each  reverential  star 
Draws  back  where  comes  the  sun.    My  home  is  far. 
Now  that  our  feet  approach  once  more  the  dell 
Where  first  we  met,  I  must  away,  farewell." 
And  scarce  I  heard  this,  ere  he  had  withdrawn. 
But  I,  who  walk'd  and  watch'd  the  opening  dawn, 
Moved  homeward  like  one  waking  from  a  dream  ; 
And,  as  my  mind  recall'd  my  joy  supreme 
To  see  those  visions  that  had  fill'd  the  sky, 
I  had  resolved,  long  ere  the  sun  was  high, 
That  whatsoever  truth  had  thus  been  shown 
Should  not  be  left  to  bless  myself  alone. 


OTE   FIFTH. 


Again  the  people  met,  and  now 
to  hear 

The  soldier's  tones,  full,  rich, 

and  flexible, 
Sound  all  the  changes  of  their  varied  notes, 
The  while  he  fondly  read  the  poet's  lines 
Inspired  to  mount  the  heights,  and  delve  the  depths, 
And  compass  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  love. 
"  Well  nigh  to  middle  life  our  friend  had  come." 
The  soldier  said,  "  ere  he  would  heed  at  all 
The  calls  appealing  only  to  his  heart. 
For  years,  hard  battling  to  maintain  the  fight 
For  food  and  clothing,  then  for  years  intent 
To  share  his  week-day  gains,  as  well  as  all 
His  Lord's-day  rest,  with  others  who  appear'd 
In  soul  and  body  poorer  than  himself, 
He  had  no  time  to  wed,  nor  think  of  it. 
Whate'er  his  mood,  but  seldom  was  he  seen 
To  turn  and  watch  God's  beauty  in  a  face, 
Or  blush  anon  with  inward  kindled  fires 
191 


192  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

To  feel  the  flatteries  breath'd  from  women's  lips. 

But,  just  ere  middle  life,  there  cross'd  his  way 

A  sweet  epitome  of  womanhood 

With  gentle  hazel  eyes,  brown  wavy  hair, 

And  full  red  lips,  through  which  flow'd  soft  and  low 

Words  richly  color'd  by  the  warmth  within, 

As  was  the  face  that  flush'd  in  uttering  them. 

And  underneath  that  open  face  there  seem'd 

A  nature  moved  by  all  that  moved  his  own, — 

His  thoughts,  his  hopes,  his  projects  for  mankind. 

What  could  he  do  but  love  it  ?     Still  for  months 

Love's   course   through   dubious    channels    flow'd 

along, 

With  currents  changed,  anon,  from  slow  to  swift, 
And  yet  with  slight  advance,  till  suddenly 
There  came  the  calmness  of  the  open  sea, 
Where  all  the  restless  rills  found  peace  at  last, 
As  pure  as  heaven's  own  light  that  in  them  slept. 
How  sweet  the  echoes  of  the  changing  stream 
Ring  through  the  rhymes  before  me  !     But  enough. 
Their  harmonies  will  charm  you  for  themselves." 


VING. 


Under  the    light    of    a   summer 

sky, 
Swept  of  clouds  as  the  sun  was 

high, 

Came  a  presence,  ere  long,  to  be 
More  than  all  things  else  to  me  ; 
More  than  all,  for  its  light  and  shade 
Changed  the  world  with  the  life  they  made  ; 
Changed  the  field  I  had  till'd  with  care 
Into  a  garden  sweet  and  fair. 
Never  so  sweet  were  the  warm  bright  hours, 
Never  so  fair  were  the  bursting  flowers. 

Under  the  spell  of  that  new  delight, 
What  could  I  do  but  pause  at  the  sight, 
Pause  to  wonder,  and  cull  and  save 
Some  of  the  sweets  that  life  then  gave  ? 
Here  they  are  :  they  may  hint  to  few 
Aught  of  the  glory  in  which  they  grew  : 
Only  the  stalks  of  an  old  bouquet, 
Colorless,  faded,  gone  to  decay, — 


194  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Still  they  are  dear  for  the  joys  they  bore 
While  they  were  blooming  in  days  of  yore. 

II. 

Over  the  hills  the  breeze  of  May 

Came,  its  fragrance  bringing. 
Over  the  meadows  all  the  day, 

Birds  in  the  boughs  were  singing. 

Out  of  my  door  the  breeze's  floods, 
Glowing  with  sunshine,  bore  me, 

Out  where  the  branches  were  bowing,  and  buds 
Parted  like  lips  before  me. 

Out  of  my  breast  for  a  world  so  fair, 

Blithe  as  the  May-life  springing, 
Out  of  my  breast  and  into  the  air 

All  my  soul  seem'd  winging, 

Winging  like  spirits  that  through  the  breeze 
Flew  to  the  earth  that  drew  them, 

Touching  the  trembling  leaves  like  keys, 
Playing  a  music  through  them. 

Then,  as  if  meant  to  meet  my  moods, 

Came  a  maiden,  wending 
Down  through  a  path  that  clove  the  woods, 

Into  the  town  descending. 

To  and  fro  the  folds  of  her  gown, 
With  fair  little  feet  below  them, 


LOVING.  195 

To  and  fro  and  up  and  down 
Daintily  swung  to  show  them. 

Heap'd  in  her  hat  were  blossoms  rare, 
Shedding  their  fragrance  round  her, 

While,  like  a  halo  of  gold  in  her  hair, 
Only  the  sunshine  crown'd  her. 

Then,  as  nearer  she  drew,  her  face 

Clear'd  from  a  shade  of  tresses, 
Fair  as  a  dawn  that  breaks  apace 

Out  of  a  cloud's  recesses. 

Shone  a  light  in  her  dark,  deep  eye 

Pure  as  a  star,  when  shining 
Far  in  a  sky  whose  depths  defy 

All  but  a  god's  divining. 

So  she  pass'd,  and  her  flower-leaves  flew, 
None  could  have  told  one  whether 

Drawn  by  her,  or  by  drafts  that  drew 
Both  through  the  world  together. 

All  of  nature  with  rhythmic  beat 

Seem'd  at  one  with  her  swaying, 
Keeping  time  to  her  fair  young  feet, 

The  beat  of.  her  heart  obeying. 

Ah,  thought  I,  since  the  world  was  new, 
All  its  whirling  and  humming, 


196  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

All  its  working,  and  waiting  too, 
Meant  that  she  was  coming. 

in. 

O  could  these  hands  of  mine 

But  clasp  a  form  so  sweet ; 
O  could  I  know  the  joys  divine 

Of  a  love  for  once  complete ! 
She  is  the  fairest  flower  of  all 

Earth  can  ever  discover 
She  is  the  fruit  of  the  world  to  fall 

Into  the  hands  that  love  her. 

IV. 

What  is  the  use  of  our  living, 

If  living  be  but  to  exist, 
And  nothing  to  others  be  giving, 

Which,  were  we  away,  would  be  miss'd  ? 

What  is  the  use  of  our  learning, 
And  toiling  to  come  to  the  right, 

If  none  can  know  we  are  yearning 
To  lead  their  spirits  to  light  ? 

What  is  the  use  of  possessing 

A  charm  of  form  or  of  face, 
If  these  be  never  expressing 

A  love  that  others  can  trace  ? 


LO  VI NG.  197 

What  is  an  outward  attraction, 

What  is  a  power  to  control, 
If  men  through  the  guise  of  our  action 

See  nothing  of  God  in  the  soul  ? 

v. 

Outward  gains  bring  only  a  show 

Gleaming  in  bubbles  a  breath  can  blow. 

All  the  glitter  that  ever  they  make, 

Flashing  or  dashing  away  as  they  break, 

All  is  as  nothing,  unless  men  find, 

Within  and  without  them  and  broader  in  kind, 

The  light  enlightening  soul  and  mind. 

Love  alone  is  the  sun-bright  air, 

Filling  the  bubbles,  and  making  them  fair, 

And  shining  on,  when  they  all  have  burst, 

As  brightly  as  when  it  lighted  them  first. 

VI. 

How  oft  in  the  night,  'mid  the  wind's  wild  sweep 
Through  the  leaf-hung  trees,  or  the  spray-flung  deep, 
My  eye  sees  not,  but  a  light  will  gleam 
Like  an  angel-face  in  an  angel-dream  ; 
And  back  through  the  years 
My  hush'd  soul  hears 
The  call  of  a  tone 
Like  the  spirit's  own  ; 
And  I  feel  the  press 


198  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Of  a  lost  caress, 

And  of  lips  that  bear 
Both  a  kiss  and  a  prayer 
For  my  cheeks  that  glow  as  my  pulses  thrill. 
Ah,  is  it  a  wonder  my  eye  should  fill  ? 
I  feel,  whatever  my  life  may  be, 
That  one  in  the  past  had  love  for  me  ; 
When,  dear  as  a  boon  from  a  realm  of  the  blest, 

My  soul  was  press'd 

To  my  mother's  breast. 


VII. 


How  oft  with  an  old  but  strange  delight, 

I  awake  and  turn  when  the  day  grows  bright ; 

But  O,  no  arm  o'er  my  neck  is  thrown, 

No  soft,  warm  breath  is  fanning  my  own. 

I  feel  but  a  draft  of  the  passing  air 

That  drifts  through  the  window  to  lift  my  hair. 

I  hear  but  the  breeze 
That  is  whispering  where 

It  plays  with  the  trees. 
The  mate  of  my  boyhood  in  days  long  past 
I  loved  with  a  love  that  could  not  last. 

He  has  left  me  for  life  ; 
And  far  away  with  children  and  wife, 
He  shows  not,  knows  not,  would  not  crave 
The  old,  old  love  that  sleeps  in  its  grave. 


LOVING.  199 

VIII. 

How  oft,  when  many  a  soul  I  meet 

For  labor  or  for  pleasure, 
With  a  strange  delight  my  heart  will  beat 

A  soft  but  stirring  measure. 

A  sacred  charm  surrounds  the  bloom 
Of  cheeks  that  glow  before  me, 

Far  sweeter  than  the  flower's  perfume 
In  springtime  ever  bore  me. 

The  smiles  their  lips  leave  unconfined, 
Their  movements  as  I  view  them, 

Appear  but  shades  of  a  life  behind, 
And  I  can  half  see  through  them. 

Ay,  oft  I  hide  my  eyes  apace 

Beneath  my  eyelids'  awning ; 
Too  bright  behind  each  flushing  face 

A  holy  light  seems  dawning. 

Each  eye  I  see  appears  a  lens, 

Through  which,  with  stolen  glances, 

A  realm  divine  my  spirit  kens, 
Which  all  my  hope  entrances. 

Who  cares  to  doubt  the  tale,  when  told 

That  seers  with  second  seeing 
Behind  the  forms  that  all  behold 

Discern  a  spirit's  being  ? 


2OO  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Past  curtains  keeping  souls  from  sight, 

Who  never  found  a  friend  there, 
Transfigured  by  a  purer  light 

Than  earthly  suns  could  send  there  ? 

Who  never  felt  an  impulse  true, 

A  better  self  within  him, 
A  spirit  yearning  to  break  through 

This  life  from  which  't  would  win  him, 

Look  through  his  frame  and  through  each  frame 

Of  those  about  who  love  him, 
Till  soul  met  soul  with  joy  the  same 

As  fills  the  heaven  above  him. 


IX. 


If  in  the  spheres  of  life  on  high, 

The  fadeless  growth  of  each  bright  year 
Unfold  but  that  whose  germs  are  here, 

What  good  do  they  gain  on  earth  who  die, 
And  let  the  love  of  earth  go  by  ? 


I  have  seen  that  fair  young  maid  once  more  ; 

And  out  of  a  near,  dear  place, 
I  have  watch'd,  as  if  through  an  opening  door, 

The  soul  that  came  to  her  face. 


LOVING.  2O I 

I  have  talk'd  with  her ;  and  oft  has  it  seem'd 

As  if  I  had  known  her  long, 
In  a  mystic  realm  of  which  I  have  dream'd, 

In  a  realm  where  speech  is  all  song. 

At  times,  I  have  found  no  need  of  speech. 

A  simple  wave  of  the  hand, 
A  shrug,  a  look,  so  far  would  reach 

That  her  soul  could  understand. 

Before  my  lips  had  time  to  frame 
The  feeling  that  sprang  to  thought, 

Up  out  of  her  own  fair  lips  there  came 
The  answer  my  soul  had  sought. 

I  have  learn 'd  from  her  with  a  sweet  surprise 

How  few  are  the  words  they  need, 
Whose  dimples  and  wrinkles  of  cheeks  and  eyes 

Write  out  what  the  soul  can  read. 

But  what  has  brought  her,  and  who  can  she  be 
That  reads  me  through  and  through, 

With  the  eyes  of  a  god  that,  turn'd  on  me, 
Know  all  that  ever  I  knew? 

XI. 

I  have  met  her  again,  and  again,  and  again  ; 
And,  whenever  I  meet  her,  my  spirit  then 
Will  leap  into  life,  like  a  year  on  the  wing, 
When  flying  from  winter  it  flutters  in  spring. 


2O2  A   LIFE  IN  SONG, 

I  have  found  her  face  in  the  crowded  room  ; 
And  strange  it  arose  as  a  rose  in  bloom 
In  the  depth  of  a  desert  of  rocks  alone, 
For  I  never  saw  then  a  charm  but  her  own. 

I  have  heard  her  words  ;    and  their  tones  would 

float 

Through  the  sounds  about  like  a  musical  note, 
More  sweet  than  a  bell  when  a  port  is  nigh, 
And  the  clouds  hang  low,  or  the  winds  are  high. 

I   have   walk'd   with   her ;    and   my    nerves   have 

sway'd 

As  if  each  were  the  chord  of  a  harp  she  play'd, 
And  every  pulse  were  a  note  to  greet 
The  soft  low  beat  of  her  firm  young  feet. 


XII. 


In  the  dusk  of  an  evening,  clear  and  still, 
I  climbed  the  path  to  her  home  on  the  hill. 

So  the  sun  withdrawn 

Climbs  up  to  a  dawn, 
When,  just  before  it,  the  night  gives  way 
And  clouds  are  hanging  like  blossoms  of  light, 

Presaging  the  fruit  of  the  day. 
At  last,  I  stood  with  her  home  in  sight. 
Through  the  sky  above  me  the  clouds  all  white 


LOVING.  203 

Flew  over  the  face 

Of  the  fair  full  moon  ; 
And  like  them  before  me  the  curtains  of  lace 

Drove  to  and  fro 

O'er  the  window  low  ; 
And  behind  their  folds  I  knew  that  soon 

My  soul  should  see 

Her  face  that  made  life  a  delight  to  me. 
But  while,  anon,  I  was  lingering  there, 
As  lightly,  as  if  by  fingers  of  air, 

Was  open'd  the  door 

That  I  paus'd  before, 
And  coming  softly  down  from  above, 
And  crossing  a  corridor  clothed  in  white, 

I  saw  my  love, — 

A  form  as  pure  as  the  moon's  pure  light 
A  form  so  pure  that  the  night's  dark  air 
Seem'd  the  robe  most  fitting  for  me  to  wear ; 
And  I  shrank  to  my  gloom,  and  left  her  there, 
Yet,  gazing  back,  for  once,  I  aver 
I  had  almost  been  content  to  have  lost 
My  soul  itself,  nor  begrudg'd  the  cost, 
Had  it  brought  me  as  near  to  her,  as  were 
The  soulless  things  that  surrounded  her. 
My  moods  all  seem  to  fit  her  own, 
And  without  her  seem  so  void,  so  lone, 
I  have  learn'd  to  envy  her  senseless  gown 
That  never  knows  it  is  bless'd, 


204  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Yet  all  day  long  moves  up  and  down 

With  the  laughing  or  sighing  that  heaves  her  breast, 

And,  clasping  tight  in  its  folds  embraced 

The  neck  so  white,  and  the  tender  waist, 

Keeps  clinging  close  to  the  frame  so  sweet, 

And  fluttering  in  and  out  to  meet 

The  dear,  dear  touch  of  the  dainty  feet. 

XIII. 

If  only  a  moment  I  could  but  stand 

And  hold  in  my  own  her  soft  warm  hand, 

And  under  her  rustling  robe  could  hear 

The  breath  that  proved  that  her  soul  was  near, 

I  never  could  ever  have  doubts  again 

That  God  can  live  in  the  frames  of  men. 

And  if  I  dared,  while  she  stood  so  nigh, 
Take  one  long  look  in  her  clear  deep  eye, 
Then,  though  the  power  that  within  would  shine, 
Should  strike  me  dead  with  its  light  divine, 
To  have  seen  one  vision  of  life  so  sweet 
Would  have  made  my  earthly  life  complete. 

And  if  but  once,  as  I  grew  more  bold, 

Her  lips  in  the  bowl  of  their  beauty  should  mould 

A  word  of  love,  or  should  seal  my  bliss 

On  lips  that  were  burning  to  feel  her  kiss, 

My  spirit,  I  think,  would  bound  so  high, 

'T  would  be  translated  nor  need  to  die. 


LO  VING.  205 

XIV. 

O,  if  as  my  life  began, 

I  had  only  bloom'd  as  a  flower, 
A  smallest  flower  in  a  vine  that  ran 

Beneath  her  feet,  or  climb'd  to  her  bower, 
She  might  have  pluck'd  me  and  held  me  tight 
In  her  warm  moist  hand,  or  pour'd  the  light 
Of  her  soul-bright  eyes  on  my  wondering  view, 
Till  with  love  they  had  burn'd  me  through  and 

through. 

She  might  have  lifted,  and  coil'd  me  there, 
Caress'd  by  a  tress  of  her  trembling  hair  ; 
Or  let  me  lie  all  day  on  her  breast, 
Where  the  lace-folds  throb  like  nerves  of  the  blest ; 
And  then  if  aught  I  could  be  in  that  hour, 
Or  aught  I  could  do  with  the  life  of  a  flower 
Could  add  to  the  store  of  her  charms,  and  make 
Her  form  more  fair  for  my  poor  sake, 
My  making  her  sweet  life  sweeter  seem 
Would  bring  me  a  bliss  that  I  could  not  dream. 

xv. 

So  little  to  her  am  I, 

One  man  of  a  myriad  men  ! 
The  eyes  that  I  love  go  flashing  by  ; 

They  take  one  look,  nor  look  again, 
And  little  they  know,  and  less  they  ask 
Of  the  soul  beneath  this  fleshly  mask. 


2O6  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Yet  what  if  she  saw  my  soul  ? 

If  indeed  she  saw  so  much, 
She  might  see  other  souls,  ay  the  whole 

That  is  under  all  forms  we  touch  ; 
And  what  have  I  more  than  others  own, 
To  claim  her  love  for  myself  alone  ? 

Men  may  be  best  as  they  are  ; 

Our  bodies  may  lenses  be 
To  focus  a  light  with  a  source  too  far 

For  earth  its  rays  to  see  ; 
And  but  for  the  finite  forms  we  love 
We  never  might  know  of  the  light  above. 

Yet  at  times  I  deem  our  souls 

Are  all  of  them  born  in  pairs  ; 

And  a  sweet  unchangeable  law  controls 
The  love  that  each  of  them  shares  ; 

And  she,  could  she  only  know  my  mind, 

Might  find  a  love,  so  deep,  so  kind  ! 

I  know  that  I  might  not  seem, 
As  I  stood  disrobed  of  flesh, 

The  pure  bright  spirit  that  blesses  her  dream 
Each  night  as  it  comes  afresh  ; 

But  O,  could  she  only  know  what  I 

Could  be  in  my  soul  ere  she  pass'd  me  by  ! 


LOVING.  2O7 

I  might  not  then  seem  whirl'd 

From  a  star  afar  in  space, 
A  stranger  into  a  stranger-world, 

To  seek  but  find  no  face 
To  tender  my  soul  a  welcome  home, 
Where  its  inward  wish  would  cease  to  roam. 

XVI. 

Two  forms  there  are  that  I  oft  must  meet ; 
Two  forms  that  I  pass  on  a  lonely  street. 
In  a  single  path  I  see  them  wend  ; 
With  one  thought's  weight  I  see  them  bend. 
Brought  face  to  face  with  whispers  low 
From  breath  to  breath  their  secrets  flow, 
And,  as  if  one  stroke  the  sweet  lines  drew, 
The  smile  of  one  is  the  smile  of  two. 
Then  oft,  more  swift  than  a  flashing  ray 
Through  rifting  clouds  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
Through  lifting  lids  a  glance  will  fly, 
All  slight  yet  bright,  from  eye  to  eye  ; 
While  like  twin  clouds  one  sunset  flushes 
One  feeling  fills  them  both  with  blushes. 
Ah,  can  it  be  true  that  for  him  should  be 
What  heaven  must  surely  have  meant  for  me  ? 

XVII. 

How  can  she  bear 
His  arrogant  air  ? — 
As  if,  forsooth,  it  were  fully  shown 


208  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

That  God  had  given  to  him  alone 

Her  cheeks  that  warm,  her  eyes  that  light 

The  whole  world  glowing  to  greet  their  sight  ? 

What  right  has  he 

To  press  her  hand, 

And  look  at  me, 

As  if  to  see 
My  flush  that  his  deed  has  fann'd  ? 

What  right  has  he 

To  bend  toward  her,  as  if  he  thought 
That  the  passionate  blast  of  the  breath  he  brought 

Could  add  new  glow 

To  the  warmth  below 
The  flush  of  a  cheek  that  he  leers  at  so  ? 

Ah  me,  but  I  pity  the  race 

If  one  with  his  beast  of  a  face 

Can  win  a  woman  like  that, 
By  dancing  attendance,  and  holding  his  hat, 
And  grinning  and  bowing  to  see  her  nod 
As  if  he  were  playing  the  ape  to  her  god. 

XVIII. 

I  have  met  her  alone  in  the  street, 
And  the  smile  she  smiled  was  all  sweet, 
But  many  a  man  has  found  such  smiles 
For  him  were  merely  wiles, — 
Each  line  that  allured  him  laughingly  set 
Like  a  cord  that  plays  for  prey  in  a  net. 


LOVING.  209 

And  what  if  over  a  net  so  fair 

The  brightest  eyes  be  beaming  ? 
O  who  can  know  if  there 

A  friendly  light  be  gleaming  ; 
Or  one  like  a  torch  on  a  hostile  shore 
That  wreckers  are  waving  where  breakers  roar  ? 
Who  knows  if  the  tone  that  allures  his  choice 
Be  a  seraph's  or  only  a  siren's  voice, 
Which,  were  he  to  heed  it,  his  hope  would  be 
Far  safer  lured  to  the  stormiest  sea? 


XIX. 

I  would  that  the  boy  whom  once  I  knew 

As  I  never  can  know  another, 
Had  her  own  dark  deep  dear  eyes  look'd  through, 

Or  had  been  her  earthly  brother. 

For  I  loved  that  boy,  and  the  boy  loved  me 

With  a  love  far  deeper  and  purer 
Than  ever  a  love  I  deem  could  be 

If  well'd  from  a  source  maturer. 

We  look'd  in  each  other's  eyes  to  see 

Our  dearer  selves  reveal'd  ; 
And  nothing  within  each  orb  saw  we 

Save  too  much  love  conceal'd. 


2IO  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

We  rested  back  in  each  other's  arms, 
And  we  heard  each  other's  hearts, 

With  music  far  sweeter  than  ever  the  charms 
That  ever  the  world  imparts. 

For  every  throb  in  the  blood  of  one 
Would  thrill  through  the  other's  veins, 

And  the  joy  of  one  dispel  like  a  sun 
The  night  of  the  other's  pains. 

Discordant  never  in  smiles  or  sighs, 

We  wonder'd  if  it  could  be — 
Oh  God,  to  think  we  were  then  so  wise  ! — 

That  others  could  love  as  we. 

I  would  that  the  boy  whom  thus  I  knew 

Had  been  of  her  kith  and  kin, 
And  had  shared  her  earthly  nature  too 

With  that  sweet  soul  within  ; 

For  if  so,  I  now  could  be  sure  as  then 
That  all  of  my  hopes  were  true  ; 

And  my  faith  could  join  with  another's  again, 
And  joy  in  the  strength  of  two. 

And  one  would  be  the  shelter'd  tree 

Whose  roots  resist  the  blast ; 
And  one  the  fruitful  vine  would  be 

That  lives  to  clasp  it  fast 


LOVING.  211 

XX. 

O  could  I  only  be  sure 

That  the  heart  that  I  love  loves  me  ; 
And  my  soul  could  dream  its  dream  secure, 

Nor  awake  to  joys  that  flee ! 

O  lips  of  mine,  speak  out 

The  love  that  is  in  you  pent ; 
If  not  to  solve  the  inward  doubt, 

To  give  the  soul  a  vent ! 

When  the  heart  is  all  aglow 

With  the  flame  of  love's  desire, 
The  inward  fume  must  outward  flow, 

Or  smother  all  the  fire. 

XXI. 

And  what  if  my  love  reject  me  ? 

The  fault  will  not  be  mine, 
Who  have  let  the  truth  direct  me, 

And  a  motive  that  seems  divine. 

My  arms  may  not  be  thrill'd 
With  the  form  they  would  enfold  ; 

My  empty  heart  may  not  be  fill'd 
With  the  love  it  had  hoped  to  hold  ; 

But  I  yet  may  be  as  bless'd 

As  the  days  that  return  to  greet  her, 


212  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  the  quivering  sod  her  feet  have  press'd, 
And  the  air  her  lips  make  sweeter  ; 

As  the  buds  that  bloom  and  the  cheeks  that  blush 

Like  shadows  that  cling  around  her, 
As  the  stars  that  shine  and  the  skies  that  flush, 

When  dawn  and  eve  have  found  her  ; 

Ay,  ay,  as  blest  as  the  angels  are 

That  over  her  pathway  hover, 
Whose  heaven  is  truly  sweeter  far 

Because  they  feel  they  love  her. 

xxn. 
I  have  seal'd  my  doom  at  last. 

With  a  wondrous  power 

In  a  still  sweet  hour, 
The  secret  my  lips  had  held  so  fast 
Burst  forth,  and,  alas,  my  hopes  are  pass'd. 
I  told  her  about  my  soul's  ideal 

That  came  from  God,  and  was  God  to  me  ; 
And  which,  in  hopes  that  it  might  be  real, 

I  had  search'd  the  world  in  vain  to  see, 
Until  with  a  strange  and  thrill'd  surprise, 
I  had  found  what  look'd  through  her  own  deep  eyes, 
And  had  watch'd  like  gestures  from  God  the  grace 
Of  her  beckoning  form;  and  at  last  could  trace 

Through  coursing  hues  that  would  come  and  go 
Across  the  radiant  veil  of  her  face, 

The  shade  of  her  soul  as  it  moved  below. 


LOVING.  213 

And  I  told  her,  as  truly  as  God  had  made 

The  earth  and  air  not  to  sever, 
Our  lives  were  allied,  and,  if  we  obey'd 

His  law,  would  be  one  forever. 

XXIII. 

Alas,  had  the  lightning  suddenly  flash'd 

From  the  calm  of  a  clear  blue  sky, 
I  had  started  less  than  I  did,  abash'd 

By  the  strange  cold  light  of  her  eye. 
Yet  whether  amazed  she  were  or  griev'd, 

My  wonder  could  not  know  ; 
But  her  breast  had  not  so  calmly  heav'd 

If  love  had  surg'd  below. 
Then  why  had  her  sweet  smile  lured  me  on, 

I  ask'd,  as  I  took  her  hand,  at  last ; 
But  her  hand  withdrew,  and  her  face  grew  wan  ; 

Her  smile  for  me  had  pass'd. 
Yet  I  hoped  anew  when  deep  in  her  frame 

A  tremulous  breath  I  heard, 
Till  out  of  her  lips  a  parting  came 

Where  I  waited  a  welcoming  word. 
She  could  not  have  meant  to  make  me  sadder, 
But  long,  long  after  good-bye  I  bade  her, 
Behind  me  would  flow 
Like  a  note  of  woe 

That  parting  word,  as  if  what  she  had  said 
Were  a  wail  of  the  wind  in  a  night  with  the  dead* 


214  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXIV. 

Of  all  the  devils  that  ever  have  curst 
This  earth  of  ours  I  deem  the  worst 

May  be  a  duplex  woman, 
Whose  airs  are  snares  that  none  suspect, 
And  are  spread  where  naught  can  souls  protect 

From  ruin  more  than  is  human  ; 

Whose  thoughts,  when  her  lover  is  craving  a  soul 
So  pure  he  can  yield  to  her  the  control 

Of  all  his  aims  and  actions, 
Are  weighing  the  worth  of  houses  and  rooms 
And  dresses  and  diamonds  and  horses  and  grooms 

For  which  to  sell  her  attractions. 

A  curse  to  her  spirit  that  makes  bright  eyes 
As  blind  as  an  owl's, — and  with  gaze  as  wise, — 

To  heaven's  light  sent  to  assist  them. 
A  curse  to  her  fangs  from  flesh  so  soft, 
And  her  serpent-like  grace,  far  crueller  oft 

Than  aught  ever  stung  to  resist  them. 

XXV. 

O  stars  of  heaven  so  pure, 

O  buds  of  earth  so  sweet, 
What  souls  can  ever  be  sure, 

When  hues  like  yours  they  meet, 
That  they  move  to  aught  with  thrilling  breath 
Except  to  danger  and  to  death  ? 


LOVING.  21$ 

O  maiden  eyes  more  pure, 

O  rose-red  lips  more  sweet, 
What  hearts  can  ever  be  sure 

That  thrill  with  you  to  meet, 
That  aught  awaits  the  panting  breath 
That  does  not  lure  true  love  to  death  ? 

XXVI. 

She  says  I  may  call  her  friend.     Ah  me, 
A  sorry  end 
Has  the  lover-friend. 
A  place  akin  to  a  dog's  has  he, 
Who,  whenever  her  form  may  be  spied, 
Deems  nothing  so  meet  for  him,  or  sweet 
As  to  snuff  the  halo  of  dust  at  her  feet, 
And  to  crouch  and  bound  and  bark  at  her  side, 
And,  trembling  to  feel  the  tap  of  her  hand, 

Be  weary  never 

Of  springing  to  fetch  and  carry  whatever 
Her  face  and  her  voice  demand. 
Full  many  a  man  has  found  to  his  cost 
A  master  made  of  the  maid  he  had  lost. 
Her  lover  turn'd  friend  is  one  to  abuse 

And  cushion  her  sense  of  sovereignty, 
A  man  to  attend  her,  and  flirt  with,  and  use 

To  waken  another  to  jealousy. — 
Yet  O,  my  soul,  who  else  but  ghouls 
Turn  heavenly  love  into  earthly  tools, 


2l6  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Or  light  by  the  glare  of  that  sacred  flame 
A  path  that  leads  to  a  selfish  aim  ? 


XXVII. 

No  weak,  half-hearted  love  can  be 
The  noblest  love,  or  the  love  for  me. 
The  power  supreme  on  the  spirit's  throne 
If  it  reign  at  all,  must  reign  alone. 
What  fills  my  soul  with  its  claims  divine, 
Like  God  whose  image  it  forms  in  mine, 
Can  never  clasp  to  a  full-thrill'd  heart 
A  love  that  can  only  love  in  part. 
The  pulsing  heat  of  my  life's  desire 
Is  the  glowing  light  of  a  growing  fire, 
Whose  flames  in  the  form  on  which  they  fall 
Must  all  be  quench'd,  or  burn  it  all. 

XXVIII. 

Ah,  did  my  love  but  love  me  well, 
I  scarce  could  need  my  love  to  tell ; 
Out  through  my  every  trembling  tone 
Would  thrill  through  her  the  joy  I  own. 

Ah,  did  my  love  but  love  me  well, 
Her  soul  would  need  one  only  spell, 


LOVING.  217 

My  face  would  come,  my  voice  would  call, 
And  these  would  charm  her,  all  in  all. 

XXIX. 

The  sun  may  fill  with  clouds  the  sky  ; 

The  moon  may  lift  the  tide, 
And  winds  that  blow  from  heaven  wash  high 

The  wave-swept  ocean  side  ; 

But  all  the  world  keeps  whirling  round ; 

And  always,  while  it  hies, 
Fair  exhalations,  heavenward  bound, 

From  mead  and  main  arise. 

The  sun  and  moon  and  wind  above 

Move  not  an  unmoved  sea  ; 
The  heart  that  does  not  heave  for  love 

Will  not  be  woo'd  by  me. 

XXX. 

Full  well  I  know  it  is  not  wise 

Where  sense  like  soul  has  merit, 
To  judge  but  by  the  spirit's  eyes 

The  world  we  now  inherit. 

But  oft  my  soul  has  deem'd  the  light 

Attending  dreams  that  cheer  us, 
A  day's,  to  which  this  life  is  night, 

A  day's  unseen  though  near  us. 


21 8  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Unseen  by  us,  I  dream  of  life, 
That  with  our  own  has  union, 

And  in  the  lulls  of  earthly  strife 
With  ours  can  hold  communion. 

A  life  it  is,  whose  charms  forestall 
The  world's  most  rare  relation, — 

Our  guardian  spirit,  consort,  all 
We  need  for  every  station. 

A  life  it  is  that  waits  above 
Our  mortal  forms  here  living  ; 

And  makes  them  instruments  of  love 
Which  it  to  man  is  giving. 

For  us,  despite  the  claims  of  earth, 
It  forms  the  one  thing  real ; 

It  brings  us  all  that  life  is  worth  ; 
We  call  it  our  ideal. 

It  owns  the  face  we  dream  about 
To  which  our  souls  are  mated  ; 

And  all  we  love  in  earth  without, 
Its  impress  has  created. 

Its  features  vague  seem  veil'd  for  us 
In  every  phase  of  beauty  ; 

And  oft,  through  good  embodied  thus, 
They  woo  our  wills  to  duty. 


LOVING.  219 

They  make  us  god-like  whose  delight 

In  forms  and  faces  real 
But  springs  to  greet  the  image  bright 

Of  this  divine  ideal. 


XXXI. 

Has  fancy  play'd  the  fool  with  me, 
Who  dream  what  heaven  can  do  ? 

If  heaven  ruled  love,  no  heart  could  be 
Beloved  and  not  love  too. 

May  it  be  true  that  none  can  live 

The  life  of  which  I  dream, 
And  that  earth  alone  has  power  to  give 

The  joy  I  hold  supreme  ? 

If  heaven  indeed  have  naught  to  do 

With  love,  then  let  my  soul, 
Accepting  earth  as  its  master  too, 

Play  out  the  curse  of  its  role  ; 

Ay,  play  for  a  pawn  without  a  soul — 

Instead  of  a  god-like  queen — 
For  the  grace  of  a  crafty  self-control, 

Or  a  face  like  a  painted  screen. 

If  I  win  her,  her  gold  for  my  pains  may  pay, 
Or  better,  perhaps,  her  blood, 


22O  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Or  the  sturdy,  nervy,  passionate  way 
She  lets  her  feelings  flood  ; 

Or  the  strength  that  flows  from  a  soulless  mould 

May  bring  me  a  breed,  to  my  cost, 
Thick-skinn'd,  thick-limb'd,  with  brawn  that  is  bold 

In  a  world  where  love  is  lost. 

All  hell  may  hail  their  brawlings  loud, 
Brute-headed,  bull-necked,  beast-eyed, — 

A  herd  to  make  the  devil  proud 
Of  the  way  God's  wish  is  defied. 

Accurs'd  of  God,  and  a  curse  to  man, 

As  have  ever  been  all  of  their  kin, 
Whose  lives  have  only  fulfill'd  a  plan 

To  thwart  the  spirit  within. — 

But  am  I  to  waive  a  life  of  truth 

For  a  lower  wish  that  craves 
The  swine-flung  husks  that  the  world,  forsooth, 

Slings  those  it  has  turn'd  into  slaves  ? 

Am  I  to  yield  the  spirit's  claim 

And  grip  what  has  come  to  thrust 
The  empty  hide  of  a  soulless  frame 

At  clutches  of  greed  and  lust  ? 

My  spirit  has  pray'd  for  a  spirit's  love, 
And  it  would  not  barter  this 


LOVING.  221 

For  the  whole  world's  dust,  and  lose  above 
Its  right  to  a  dower  of  bliss. 

For  if  it  were  false,  would  one  be  sure, 

When  thrill'd  and  awed  by  love, 
That  all  love  is  one  and  that  ever  when  pure 

It  images  God's  above  ? 

And  if  no  love  their  lust  control 

Whom  the  rites  of  earth  entice, 
Alas  for  churches  that  prostitute  soul, 

And  states  that  establish  vice  ! 

XXXII. 

This  world  has  ways  where  far  we  roam 

From  the  purer  light 

That  our  souls  deem  bright, 
And  yet  this  world  is  now  our  home ; 

And  planted  here  for  some  good  cause 

Like  seed  to  grow 

In  a  soil  below, 
The  laws  of  our  lives  are  worldly  laws. 

We  cannot  live  the  life  on  high, 

We  cannot  be 

In  all  things  free, 
Till  the  flower  shall  bloom  and  its  fragrance  fly. 


222  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Till  then,  hemm'd  in  from  heaven  by  earth, 

'T  is  ours  to  reach 

For  the  good  in  each  ; 
Nor  waive  the  higher  for  lower  worth. 

Nor  have  ever  our  paths  been  so  well  mark'd  out 

But  that  they  show 

Wherever  we  go, 
What  lures  to  faith  and  lures  to  doubt. 

Yet  if  one  clear  truth  have  cross'd  the  world's  brink, 

This  truth  is  clear, — 

That  all  learn  here 
Less  what  to  do,  than  how  to  think, 

Less  what  they  ought  to  gain  or  lose, 

Or  feel  or  say, 

Than  how  to  weigh 
The  worth  of  what  they  judge  or  choose. 

And  if  spirit-life  be  a  life  in  thought, 

Thought  must  control 

The  reasoning  soul 
Before  to  the  wisest  life  't  is  brought ; 

Thought  here  must  learn  to  know  and  feel, 

Yet  choose  the  mean 

'Twixt  each  extreme 
Of  dunce  or  dreamer,  sloth  or  zeal. 


LOVING.  223 

Life's  problem  thus  may  all  be  solved, 

If  far  above 

Earth's  truth  or  love 
Heaven  rates  high  reason's  powers  evolved. 

For  good  can  never  be  lost  when  sought ; 

But  joy  and  pain 

Both  turn  to  gain, 
If  spirit-life  be  a  life  in  thought. 

XXXIII. 

I  pass'd  a  grove  on  a  lowery  day  ; 

And  out  through  the  trees  there  rang 
The  deep  clear  note  of  a  low  sweet  lay 

Where  a  lonely  night-bird  sang. 

I  watch'd  a  cloud  that  floated  away  ; 

And  it  seem'd  as  if  bearing  along 
A  lark  whose  trills  were  filling  the  day 

With  an  endless  flood  of  song. 

Then  the    sun    burst  forth  ;    and   the   night-bird 
stopp'd  ; 

And  flew  away  to  his  rest ; 
And  the  lark  to  the  ground  in  silence  dropp'd 

Where  brightly  shone  his  nest. 

Ah,  better  I  thought  to  sing  in  the  gloom 
Than  never  be  stirr'd  by  the  worth 


224  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Of  a  beauty  that  never  can  seem  to  bloom 
Save  over  a  darken'd  earth. 

And  better,  if  like  a  lark,  to  soar 

Than  sink  to  the  silent  ground, 
And  tune  the  old  sweet  songs  no  more, 

Because  one's  mate  is  found. 

xxxiv. 

My  dear  one  has  driven  me  off  ;  but  I  know 

My  heart  is  her's,  and  its  love  will  show  ; 

And  to  find  a  way  for  this  will  give 

My  spirit  an  aim  for  which  to  live. 

My  lips  will  pour  into  every  ear 

The  thought   she  has  waked,  and   whoever  shall 

hear, 

While  hearing  an  echo  of  life  so  fair, 
Will  dream  and  live  in  a  fairer  air. 

My  lips  will  pour  into  every  brain 
My  thoughts  of  her,  which  there  will  remain, 
Till  its  owner  shall  greet  her  form  so  sweet. 
Then  all  I  have  said  will  seem  so  meet, 
That  whatever  is  o'er  them  will  spring  like  a  lid 
To  show  her  my  thoughts  that  within  lie  hid. 
Thus  all  between  our  souls  will  be, 
Though  never  they  dream  of  it,  slaves  to  me, 
And  be  made  to  share 


LOVING.  22$ 

In  making  her  move  in  an  echoing  air 
That  fills  her  ways 
With  the  praise  I  raise. 

XXXV. 

And  what  if  her  heart  should  then  find  sweet 

The  praise  that  her  nature  knows  is  meet  ? — 

A  flower  may  live  in  its  own  perfume, 

And  why  not  a  maiden  fresh  in  her  bloom 

In  the  sweet  air  shared  by  all  the  wise 

Who  follow  like  fringe  her  beauty's  guise? 

But  will  my  dear  one  love  me  too 

For  lips  that  have  given  her  only  her  due  ? 

A  fool  may  think  that  a  passing  glance > 

Like  a  spark  from  a  wheel,  as  he  whirls  in  a  dance, 

A  touch  of  his  hand,  a  word,  a  sigh, 

May  win  the  heart  that  his  form  flits  by. 

But  love  is  a  boon,  if  wise  one  be, 

Too  dear  to  be  won  by  a  worthless  plea. 

Wise  love  has  a  spirit  that  craves  to  find 

The  inward  mind, 
A  soul  to  its  own  soul  so  allied 

That  though  no  more 

Of  flesh  two  wore 
Their  souls  would  linger  side  by  side. 

XXXVI. 

For  the  warmth  and  cheer  to  be  bought  with  gold, 
Where  neither  can  ever  regale  them, 


226  A  LIFE  IAT  SONG. 

Men  delve  in  the  depths  through  damp  and  cold 
Till  body  and  spirit  fail  them. 

To  be  leaders  of  men,  who  whip  and  rein 

Those  first  in  name  and  station, 
Like  beasts  of  burden  in  sweat  and  pain, 

They  drag  the  car  of  the  nation. 

For  clod  to  stand  on,  and  call  their  own, 
For  a  flag  of  which  to  be  prouder, 

Like  stubble  that  into  the  fire  is  thrown 
They  charge  into  shot  and  powder. 

In  hope  of  a  heaven  their  fancies  fill 
So  vaguely  that  wise  men  doubt  them, 

They  cripple  their  joys  on  earth  until 
They  have  made  a  hell  about  them. 

But  whenever  the  good  of  all  good  comes, 

That  most  is  worth  possessing, 
The  feast  of  which  all  these  are  crumbs, 

The  viand  of  which  the  dressing  ; 

When  comes  true  love  that  to  gain,  aftei  all, 
Is  the  one  thing  in  life  worth  doing, 

Men  think  it  will  yield  to  a  beck  or  a  call, 
And  does  not  need  pursuing. 

Ah,  fools,  as  little  of  good  we  earn 
By  ease  on  earth  as  by  sinning  ; 


LOVING.  22? 

A  love  for  which  we  are  wise  to  yearn 
Can  only  be  won  by  the  winning. 

XXXVII. 

My  dear  one  has  driven  me  off,  but  no, 
She  shall  not  thwart  me  so. 
Without  my  planning,  if  ever  we  meet 
In  a  crowded  room,  or  a  bustling  street, 
Though  nothing  of  love  my  tongue  can  say, 

My  cheeks  will  blush 

As  the  pale  clouds  flush 
When  comes  the  sun  that  has  brought  them  day ; 

My  stateliest  bow 

Will  show  her  how, 
O'ercome  by  a  vision  I  find  so  sweet, 
My  whole  frame  longs  to  fall  at  her  feet ; 
And  if  we  formally  clasp  our  hands, 

Each  tingling  nerve 

In  my  own  will  serve 

With  a  touch  to  tell  her  my  soul's  demands  ; 
And  all  my  tones,  whatever  I  say, 

Will  tremble  and  sing 

Like  the  notes  of  a  string 
That  rings  in  a  harp  that  the  angels  play. 
And  who  knows  but,  at  last,  sweet  love  may  rise 

Like  a  fount  that  wakes 

In  a  rock  that  breaks, 
And  under  each  trembling  lid, 


228  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Up-sparkle  the  spray  to  her  bright  dim  eyes, 

All  loath  to  show 
The  secret  that  there  I  learn  is  hid  ? 

XXXVIII. 

My  dear  one  has  driven  me  off ;  but  O 

She  must  not  thwart  me  so. 

Her  life's  full  destiny  must  she  know, 

When  dower'd  with  mine  own,  as  well,  she  stands 

With  doubled  head  and  heart  and  hands. 

Ah,  could  she  but  dream 

How  sweet  it  would  seem 
For  me  to  give  my  life  for  her  own, 
To  be  her  slave  and  that  alone, 

A  willing  slave, 
Who  all  worth  living  in  life  would  save, 

Though  I  toil'd  all  day 

In  the  weariest  way, 

If  only  at  home  could  await  me  that  rest, 
More  sweet  than  ever  a  seraph  blest, 
When,  welcom'd  for  all  that  in  me  was  best, 
With  wonder  new,  I  bent  to  the  grace 
And  infinite  depth  of  her  thrill'd  embrace  ! 

XXXIX. 

I  have  wandered  away  to  seek  the  street, 
Where  I  know  that  oft  will  pass  her  feet ; 


LOVING.  229 

And  wonder'd  if  fate  would  bring  to  me 
The  form  that  I  so  long  to  see. 

By  naught  I  do,  would  I  have  it  proved 
That  I  seek  her  thus  ;  but  if  souls  be  moved 
Like  stars  through  their  courses  by  God's  decree, 
Her  life  will  surely  move  toward  me. 

I  think  she  is  coming,  and  trembling  await 
Her  form  afar  like  a  herald  of  fate  ; 
My  heart  beats  wildly  ;  alas,  for  me  ! 
I  await  her  vainly  ;  it  is  not  she. 

I  think  she  is  talking,  the  tone  so  clear 
That  my  soul  is  awed  that  I  dare  to  hear  ; 
And  I  turn  for  a  greeting  to  be  my  own  ; 
She  is  not  there,  but  I  stand  alone. 

Alas,  must  I  ever  wandering  go 

Where  shadows  and  echoes  delude  me  so  ? 

How  can  one  live  a  life  ideal 

Who  fears  that  love  can  never  be  real  ? 

XL. 

At  last  we  have  met ;  and  we  paused  and  talked 

In  the  old  familiar  way  ; 

And  her  words  were  kind ;    and  we   turn'd  and 
walk'd 

Till  the  light  had  left  the  day. 


23O  A   LIFE  IN"  SONG. 

We  have  found  a  work  that  we  both  can  do ; 

And  oft  we  meet  to  confer. 
We  are  working  for  others,  with  others  too  ; 

But  I,  I  work  for  her. 

At  times,  we  wait  when  the  work  is  done  ; 

For  more  that  needs  to  be  said; 
If  only  to  note  that  the  evening  sun 

Is  turning  our  skies  to  red. 

There  is  most  for  us  all  to  say,  I  think, 
When  the  heart  is  least  at  ease. 

The  streams  that  leap  the  stoniest  brink 
Swell  most  the  tale  of  the  breeze. 

And  so  we  loiter,  and  let  our  words 
Float  off  from  their  currents  of  care, 

And  echo  about  us,  like  songs  of  the  birds 
That  trill  through  the  evening  air. 

To  sit  by  her  side,  as  the  light  grows  dim, 

Oft  fills  this  mind  of  mine 
As  a  glass  with  wine  ;  and  it  floods  its  brim 

With  a  sparkle  that  seems  divine. 

Of  what  do  we  talk  ? — Of  the  goals  of  life, 

The  freedom  and  peace  to  be, 
When  the  good  shall  always  gain  their  strife 

With  truth  as  their  only  plea. 


LOVING.  231 

We  talk  of  the  world  as  it  shall  be,  when 

Men  heed  the  spirit's  call ; 
And  the  untold  worth  to  bless  them  then, 

When  heaven  shall  rule  them  all. 

We  talk  of  the  world  as  it  is,  that  strives 

With  forms  to  hide  the  heart. 
Were  it  made  by  us,  forsooth,  no  lives, 

When  at  one,  would  dwell  apart. 

Or,  if  nearer  objects  claim  our  view, 
Our  thought  on  ourselves  may  fall ; 

And  our  whims  we  dress,  and  undress  too 
Like  a  child  at  play  with  a  doll. 

Do  we  mention  love  ?   Oh,  how  should  we  dare? 

For  love  one  may  only  harm 
By  stripping  its  form  of  the  mystery  there, 

Which  is  oft  its  holiest  charm. 

But  I  like  to  unfold  to  her  all  my  plans 
For  the  courage  she  makes  me  possess, 

Like  a  warrior  touch'd  by  a  priestess's  hands, 
Foretelling  a  sure  success. 

For  hours  I  linger,  nor  break  the  spell, 

Till  under  the  moon  so  bright 
The  great  town-bell  will  ring  like  a  knell, 

For  it  bids  us  bid  good-night. 


232  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XLI. 

O  search  that  was  longest,  O  world  that  was  wide, 
O  heart  that  was  toss'd  on  a  compassless  tide, 
Waves  wild  with  commotion,  ye  hush  into  rest, 
And  there  beyond  lies  the  land  of  the  blest. 

O  eyes  that  had  watch'd  for  the  form  of  delight, 

O  ears  that  had  listen'd  the  long,  long  night, 

O  hands  that  had  touch'd  what  dropp'd  from  you 

dead, 
No  looming  delusion  your  faith  had  misled. 

Nay,  brighter  than  suns,  love's  own  true  beams 
Are  burning  through  mists  that  obscured  them  in 

dreams. 

No  cheeks  of  a  phantom  had  e'er  such  a  glow  ; 
No  eyes  of  a  phantom  such  trust  could  show. 

Come  hither  ;  lay  hold  of  my  spirit,  O  love, 
That  flutters  its  wings  like  a  captive-dove. 
Sweet  pain,  to  be  pierc'd  by  the  shaft  of  thine  eye  ! 
Sweet  prison,  in  thy  warm  clasp  to  lie  ! 

Ah,  dearest  of  dear  ones,  was  ever  a  face 
More  fair  than  thine  own  in  the  holiest  place  ? 
My  reverent  spirit  yields  to  the  sight ; 
It  yields  as  to  God,  where  love  is  and  light. 


LOVING.  233 

XLI1. 

To-night  when  the  sun  had  sunk  below 

And  the  moonlight  fill'd  the  sky, 
Our  hearts  were  beating  like  wings  that  would  go 

And  glow  with  the  stars  on  high. 

0  surely  our  souls  had  left  the  earth  ; 
For  a  vague  and  mystic  light 

Hung  over  our  hopes,  and  hush'd  our  mirth, 
And  hid  the  world  from  sight. 

1  had  touch'd  her  hand  ;  but  my  soul  within 
Felt  not  the  flesh  that  I  press'd  ; 

But  the  flow  of  currents  it  knew  were  akin 
To  the  fair  dear  life  of  the  blest. 

And  then  it  was  all  so  easy,  at  last, 

For  me  to  say  what  I  said  ; 
As  her  full  bright  eye  she  downward  cast, 

And  turn'd  from  me  her  head. 

She  is  mine,  she  is  mine  ;  and  the  years  may  go  ; 

And  the  worlds  may  whirl  where  they  will ; 
But  heaven  is  good  ;  and  forever  I  know 

Our  hearts  must  have  their  fill. 

XLIII. 

Look  up,  my  love,  and  let  me  see 
Those  eyes  of  thine  gaze  full  on  me. 


234  A  LIFE  IN"  SONG. 

One  glimpse  were  heaven,  although  theiv  light 
Should  blind  me  to  each  lesser  sight. 

What  though  their  more  than  earthly  fire 
Should  turn  to  flame  my  heart's  desire  ; 
'T  were  sweet  to  let  this  life  of  mine 
All  burn  to  incense  at  thy  shrine. 

O  could  thy  power  thus  make  me  thine, 
'T  would  all  my  coarser  self  refine  ; 
For  nothing  would  be  left  of  me, 
Save  what  should  be  a  part  of  thee. 


XLIV. 

I  half  believe  my  senses  err  ; 
For  how  can  it  ever  be  true 
That  her  soul  can  see 
Such  charms  in  me 
As  have  drawn  my  soul  to  her, 
And  have  made  one  life  of  two  ? 

Can  her  eyes  have  ever  beheld  my  frame, 
Transfigur'd  by  a  glow 
From  foot  to  face 
Of  beauty  and  grace, 
As  I  see  her  ? — Yet  the  halo  came, 
Or  she  had  not  lov'd  me  so. 


LOVING.  235 

Does  ever  the  slightest  move  of  mine 
With  rhythm  so  fill  the  air, 
That  her  veins  all  beat 
With  throbs  more  sweet, 
Than  if  she  were  breathing  a  breeze  divine, 
And  a  god  were  passing  there  ? 

Can  ever  my  flesh  appear  so  fair, 
And  the  blood  so  warm  below 
That  the  gentlest  touch 
Is  all  too  much  ? — 
Nor  her  tingling  nerves  can  bear 
The  joys  that  through  them  flow  ? 

Ah  now,  my  frame,  you  are  dear  to  me. 
What  else  below  or  above 
Could  ever  appear 
So  deeply  dear  ? 

What  else  could  I  wish  to  have  or  be  ? — 
For  ah,  you  have  won  her  love. 

O  new-found  bliss  of  an  earthly  birth  ; 
This  frame  may  be  but  sod  ; 
But  sod  or  soul 
She  loves  the  whole 

That  I  am,  nor  another  could  have  such  worth  ; 
I  would  rather  be  man  than  God. 


236  A   LIFE  IN  SONG, 

XLV. 

Ah,  loved  one,  not  the  dullest  nerve 

In  all  this  form  I  own 
But  would  be  thrill'd  with  bliss  to  serve 

And  toil  for  thee  alone. 
So,  darling,  put  thy  hand  in  mine, 
And  let  me  hear  thee  call  me  thine. 

What  canst  thou  do  to  seem  more  dear  ? — 
Seem  more  to  own  me,  soul  and  form  ; 

Nor  think  they  e'er  can  be  too  near 
Thy  heart  that  love  keeps  warm. 

O  darling,  make  my  whole  life  be 

One  long  sweet  dream  of  pleasing  thee. 

XLVI. 

What  sigh  is  this,  my  trembling  breast  ? 

What  wish  does  life  deny  thee  ? 
These  throbs,  like  wings  that  wait  suppress'd,- 

Ah  whither  would  they  hie  thee  ? 

Deep  sighs  of  love,  I  know  their  quest, 
And  where  they  would  be  winging, 

No  dearer,  sweeter,  softer  nest 
Was  ever  the  goal  of  singing. 

There  love,  when  it  is  all  express'd, 
These  bands  of  thine  will  sever, 


LOVING.  237 

And  life  that  moves  to  all  things  blest 
Thy  joy  will  free  forever. 

XLVII. 

O  wedding-day,  thou  flower  most  rare 
Of  all  that  burst  from  bulbs  of  night, 

Lift  o'er  my  eyes  thy  petals  fair, 
Nor  shed  for  aye  thy  leaves  of  light, 
Nor  let  them  e'er  decay. 

O  day,  this  coming  air  of  thine 

Intoxicates  my  soul  with  sweets, 
Life-giving  as  the  breeze  divine 

Through  which  the  new-born  angel  greets 
The  dawn  of  endless  day. 

O  day,  thy  clouds,  though  rain  they  bring, 
Will  float  like  birds  athwart  the  sky, 

At  rest  upon  an  idle  wing, 

Or  pouring  forth  sweet  songs  on  high 
That  shower  with  trills  the  way. 

XLVIII. 

The  birds  are  waking  ; 
The  dawn  is  breaking  ; 

The  window  lights  grow  clear ; 
The  east  is  gleaming  ; 


238  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

I  am  not  dreaming  ; 

My  wedding-day  is  here. 

O  what  emotion, 
Or  what  devotion 
-     Can  greet  a  joy  so  vast, 
That  comes  to  sever 
My  life  forever 

From  all  its  lonely  past  ? 

The  church  bell  's  ringing 
A  crowd  is  bringing  ; 

And  through  the  porch  they  pour. 
We  too  are  standing 
Upon  the  landing 

Before  the  wide  church  door. 

Without  revealing 
A  trace  of  feeling 

In  either  smiles  or  sighs, 
O  what  is  under 
The  vague  dim  wonder 

That  fills  her  moveless  eyes  ? 

Before  the  altar 
She  does  not  falter. 

How  calmly  heaves  her  breast ! 
Her  form  is  bowing, 


LOVING.  239 

Her  lips  are  vowing 

To  make  my  whole  life  bless'd. 


With  friends  around  us 
Our  vows  have  bound  us  ; 

New  life  has  been  begun. 
Our  hands  are  taken 
And  press'd  and  shaken  ; 

For  love  has  made  us  one. 


XLIX. 

O  darling,  can  it  be  this  frame 
Is  mine  in  truth  as  well  as  name  ? 
My  heart  is  trembling,  love,  to  share, 
And  make  thy  trembling  hope  its  care. 

What  is  it  brims  these  lips  of  thine  ? 

Is  it  a  draft  of  wine  divine  ? 

O  surely  never  earthly  gains 

Could  thrill  so  sweetly  through  the  veins. 

Come  near  me,  love,  for  I  would  be 
Forever  still  more  near  to  thee  ; 
And  while  our  lips  and  arms  entwine 
Let  all  I  am  or  own  be  thine. 


240  A   LIFE  IN  SONG, 

L. 

When  birds  at  morn  are  singing, 
And  wake  me  from  my  rest, 
All  heaven  above  me  ringing 

Seems  echoed  in  my  breast  ; 
Yet  not  to  answer  back  the  birds, 
Nay,  love,  but  thy  warm  touch  and  words, 
Which  truly  bring  the  heaven  to  me 
Because  I  wake  to  live  with  thee. 

At  noontime,  when  my  labor 

That  toils  from  height  to  height 
Has  distanced  many  a  neighbor, 
And  all  my  skies  are  bright ; 
All,  all  seem  nothing,  till  I  find 
Myself  within  thine  arms  entwined, 
And  thy  dear  lips  assuring  me 
That  all  I  gain  is  gain'd  for  thee. 

When  night  falls  dark  and  dreary, 

Or  loss  has  check'd  anon 
My  powers  that  worn  and  weary 

Refuse  to  labor  on, 
E'en  then  I  ne'er  can  mourn  the  cost 
Of  toilsome  days  and  labor  lost, 
While  night  and  weariness  to  me 
Bring  dreams  that  all  are  fill'd  with  thee. 


LOVING.  241 

LI. 

You  ask  me  why  I  love  my  love. 

Ah,  think  not  love  needs  proving. 
She  sways  me  like  the  breeze  above 

That  keeps  the  tree-top  moving. 

In  her  fair  face  I  find  a  bloom 

Life  could  not  own  without  it, 
Which,  like  a  rose  that  sheds  perfume, 

Makes  all  earth  sweet  about  it. 

In  her  deep  eyes  I  see  a  light 

That  turns  her  slightest  glances 

To  beams  that  guide,  like  stars  at  night, 
My  life's  dark  fears  and  fancies. 

Through  her  dear  voice  there  sounds  a  charm 

Past  music's  in  attraction, 
That  bids  all  forms  of  ill  disarm, 

And  nerves  to  noblest  action. 

She  is  of  all  life's  hues  the  sun  ; 

Nor  whiter  could  a  dove's  be 
Than  hers  to  me,  for  all  seem  one, 

Because  all  mean  she  loves  me. 

LII. 

O  friend,  the  heavens  are  kind  to  let  no  gleam 
Of  earth's  rude  sunlight  wake  our  love's  long  dream, 


242  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Though  we  could  find  more  rest  in  one  caress 
Than  slumber  ever  brought  to  worn  distress. 

We  know  not  how  the  seasons  may  transform 
Our  outward  lives  with  sunshine  or  with  storm, 
But  we  have  learn'd — in  this  our  souls  may  rest — 
To  be  at  one  in  all  things  that  are  best. 

Twin  lives  have  we,  both  rooted  in  one  soil, 
And  growing  toward  one  hope  for  which  we  toil ; 
Twin  lives  have  we,  both  branches  of  one  vine, 
And  all  that  threatens  thy  life  threatens  mine. 

Let  love  light  all  our  pathway,  till  our  days 
Grow  dark  with  shades  of  life's  departing  rays  ; 
But  O  how  brightly  then  shall  heaven,  at  last, 
Glow  like  a  sunset  o'er  a  loving  past ! 

Fear  not,  O  love,  that  in  earth's  gathering  gloom 
These  cheeks  of  thine  for  me  shall  lose  their  bloom. 
Fear  not  that  all  the  tears  that  ease  thy  sighs 
Shall  dim  for  me  the  lustre  of  these  eyes. 

Nay,  nay,  as  through  all  struggling  manhood's  prime 
All  sweetest  scenes  recall  sweet  childhood's  time  ; 
As  all  fair  lands  through  which  far  wanderers  roam 
Are  fond  reminders  of  their  distant  home  ; 

As  all  the  race  who  rise  to  good  from  vice 
Dream  dreams  about  an  old-time  Paradise, 


LOVING.  243 

So,  darling,  all  through  all  my  life  to  me 

Each  new-found  joy  shall  turn  my  thought  to  thee. 

Our  home  may  know  no  young  sweet  face  or  tone 
To  thrill  my  heart  that  heeds  through  each  thine  own ; 
Yet  wheresoever  love  is  roused  in  me, 
Each  form  I  love  shall  seem  a  part  of  thee. 

No  more  can  man  or  matron,  maid  or  boy, 
With  coming  charms  excite  my  spirit's  joy, 
But  these  must  find  in  thy  fair  form  their  birth, 
But  these  must  gain  from  thy  dear  life  their  worth. 

The  light  of  heaven  has  burn'd  thine  image  where 
My  soul  must  evermore  its  impress  bear. 
Naught  now  can  come  to  bless  my  spirit's  view, 
But,  where  it  comes,  thy  smiling  form  stands  too, 

Nay  more,  my  true  one,  thy  soul's  flowing  love 
Holds  in  its  depths  the  imaged  heavens  above  ; 
And  when  't  is  quaffed,  and  floods  my  being's  brim, 
The  draft  fits  God.     I  feel  akin  to  Him. 

Some  day,  O  love,  dark  death  will  come  to  us  ; 
But  need  not  end  our  loving.     Living  thus, 
Why  should  we  mourn  for  life's  dry  leafless  vine, 
Who  seek  heaven's  vintage,  and  have  saved  the  wine  ? 

We  shall  have  liv'd  and  loved  ;  nor  all  earth's  pain 
Can  make  us  feel  that  we  have  liv'd  in  vain. 
Life  is  no  failure  in  which  earthly  love 
Is  grown  and  ripen'd  for  the  world  above. 


OTE    SIXTH. 


"  Full  many  a  time  of  old,"  the 
soldier  said, 

When  on  the  following  day  the 

friends  had  met, 
"  Have  I  beheld  the  poet  in  his  home, 
So  thrill'd  when  watching  babes  and  wife  so  fair  T 
It  form'd  the  centre  of  his  joys  and  hopes, — 
Almost  the  centre  of  the  joys  and  hopes 
Of  all  the  busy  town  in  which  he  dwelt. 
Still  preaching  on  the  Sabbath,  yet  a  man 
Whose  pen  had  won  for  him  a  wide  renown, 
And  whose  wise  energy  had  brought  him  wealth, 
In  every  house  was  famed  his  generous  worth. 
Though  gray-beards  might  recall  a  former  time 
When  many  an  indiscretion  marr'd  his  youth, 
None  blamed  him  now  for  any  earlier  fault. 
In  all  completed  pictures  of  this  life, 
Dark  tints  but  give  the  bright  ones  rare  relief, 
Defects  in  youth,  because  they  are  defects, 
But  prove  more  merit  in  the  one  who  turns 
244 


NOTE  SIXTH.  245 

His  poor  resources  into  rich  results. 

And  far  and  near  his  wisdom  too  was  famed. 

How  keen  his  insight  !  and  how  deep  he  probed 

Beneath  all  outward  proof  ;  how  far  his  views 

Reach'd  round  the  world,  tho'  ne'er  a  voyager  ! 

For  one  may  see  this  life  and  stay  at  home. 

Between  two  walls  imagination  oft 

Finds  truth  that  world-wide  travellers  never  know  ; 

Nor  does  it  always  make  men  wise,  I  deem, 

That  they  have  napp'd  in  Nice  or  roam'd  in  Rome. 

But  soon  his  life,  thus  anchor'd  as  it  wished, 

Was  destin'd  once  again  to  beat  the  waves, 

Where  under  wilder  skies  in  darker  night, 

By  tacking  to  the  winds  of  circumstance, 

He  was  to  ride  the  storm  out,  and  to  come 

Where  only,  it  may  be,  the  dreams  of  youth 

Could  find  fulfilment  in  the  deeds  of  age." 


ERVING. 


Souls  make  their  own  surround 
ings,  moving  on 
Through  lights  and  shadows 

by  their  presence  cast ; 
And  paths,  with  these  all  gone,  seem  changed  anon, 

When  seen  by  those  who  trod  them  in  the  past. 
This  may  be  why  my  mind  oft  seeks  to  sever 

Myself  from  scenes  that  once  appear'd  my  all : 
This  may  be  why  there  seems  to  loom  up  ever 
A  figure  not  my  own  in  paths  I  now  recall. 

n. 

A  man  I  see  with  blood  and  brain  the  kind 

Earth  terms  eccentric,  since  it  finds  them  few  ; 
As  wise  Chinese  with  half-hiss'd  whispers  mind 

A  heathen  head  to  which  they  find  no  cue. 
For  far  extremes  his  moods  were  always  linking, — 

The  swiftest  passions  and  the  strongest  will, 
The  maddest  fancies  and  the  sanest  thinking, 

A  poet's  ken  and  all  a  plodder's  trust  in  drill. 
246 


SERVING.  247 

III. 

His  broad  desires  in  broadest  fields  would  roam, 

Where'er  was  worth  his  nature  to  attract. 
While  ignorance  with  him  smiled  and  seem'd  at 
home, 

And  wisdom  would  not  know  a  trait  he  lack'd. 
His  mien,  like  water,  imaged  life  around  it  ; 

And,  chang'd  by  each  new-comer's  wish  or  whim, 
A  mirror  to  reflect  whatever  found  it, 

A  man  could  read  some  men  through  what  they 
saw  in  him, 

IV. 

And  yet  he  played  no  mere  time-server's  part, 

Nor  waived  old  truth  and  friendship  for  the  new. 
Who  judged  he  waived  them  would   misjudge   a 

heart 

No  more  susceptive  to  them  both,  than  true. 
But  traits  like  these,  because  not  always  blended, 

Oft  made  his  nature  doubted  and  reviled  ; 
Some  deem'd  them  craft,  and  such  their  friend 
ship  ended  ; 

Some  deem'd  them  whims,  and  such  would  chide 
him  like  a  child. 

v. 

When  young,  not  few  had  found  his  ways  too  old  ; 
When  older,  few  had  found  them  not  too  young 


248  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

His  friends  for  his  reserve  oft  thought  him  cold  ; 

His  foes  thought  all  he  knew  was  on  his  tongue. 
Yet  ever  for  a  true  demean  ambitious, 

His  greatest  virtue  proved  his  greatest  fault. 
Oft  men,  adepts  in  vice,  would  deem  him  vicious. 

Because  no  guile's  discretion  made  his  frankness 
halt. 

VI. 

While  earth  keeps  training  men  to  use  device, 

The  souls  too  proud  to  use  it  or  too  pure, 
Are  sure  to  rouse  at  last  from  lips  precise 

The  chidings  of  some  wrong-reform'd  ill-doer, 
Whose  former  vice  has  foul'd  the  soul's  emotion, 

Who  deems  a  sight  of  naked  spirit  sin, 
And  all  love  haunted  by  some  carnal  notion, 

And  so  keeps  out  the  Christ  to  keep  the  devil  in. 

VII. 

Besides,  broad  views  alone  give  men  offense. 

What  tho'  on  life's  wide  sea  loom  stars  and  shoals, 
Both  theories  for  thought  and  facts  for  sense  ? 

Alas  for  those  whose  too  well-balanced  souls 
Let  not  the  aspect  of  but  one  view  draw  them  ! 

Think  you  that  men  will  yield  to  such  their  trust  ? 
Most  men  are  curs,  and  let  mere  brute-will  awe  them 

Far  more   than   great-soul' d   thought,   however 
wise  or  just. 


SEX  VJNG.  249 

VIII. 

Not  long  a  philosophic,  loving  mind 

Can  well  endure  all  dearth  of  sympathy. 
To  seek  this  kindly,  and  yet  fail  to  find, 

Makes  lack  of  welcome  seem  hostility. 
And  this  man's  head  and  heart  were  so  united, 

His    thought    woke    passion,    and    his    passion 

thought. 
His  logic  fired  his  fancy,  when  excited  ; 

His  fancy  fann'd  the  forge  wherein  his  logic 
wrought. 

IX. 

It  wrought  his  woe,  and  this  his  reason  knew. 

He  knew  his  own  ideals  made  him  sad. 
He  yet  would  rather  sigh  and  urge  the  true, 

Than  smile  and  seem  contented  with  the  bad. 
So  oft  within  life's  theatre  of  action, 

He   play'd   the   preacher,  where   men  sought  a 

clown  ; 

And  took  a  keen  but  morbid  satisfaction 
When  those  who  only  cared  for  pleasure  hiss'd 
him  down. 

x. 

Those  modest  plants  that  men  term  sensitive, 
If  unmolested,  show  no  morbid  traits. 

It  is  the  alien  touch  which  strangers  give 

That  shrinks  their  leaves  to  sharp  and  hostile 
states. 


250  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Thus  find  we  often  shrinking  spirits  wearing 
Unfriendly  mail,  where  aught  their  trust  repels  ; 

But,  when  the  doubt  has  pass'd,  which  caused  this 

bearing, 
Of  what  a  genial  life  their  loving  welcome  tells  ! 


XI. 

When  men's  misjudgments  thus  have  made  a  man 

Withdraw  from  them,  nor  longer  care  to  live, 
He  oft  is  forced,  as  if  by  nature's  plan, 

To  seek  new  friends,  who,  too,  are  sensitive. 
In  these,  perchance,  the  soul  may  find  its  brothers  ; 

With  these,  perchance,  can  life  again  seem  sweet, 
For  these,  in  seeking  charity  from  others, 

Have  gain'd  it,  too,  to  give  to  those  with  whom 
they  meet. 

XII. 

The  man  of  whom  we  write,  in  time  so  met 

An  orphan  teacher,  homeless,  pure,  and  fair, 
A  maiden  toiling  for  her  bread,  who  yet 

Had  willing  hands  in  others'  toil  to  share. 
Though  hard  she  wrought,  her  touch  made  all  her 

labors 

Like  works  of  art  ;  and,  bless'd  with  beauty's 
dower, 


SERVING.  251 

Although  her  garb  was  plainer  than  her  neighbors', 
Her  face  made  this  unmark'd  as  leaves  beside  a 
flower. 

XIII. 

In  common  walks  of  life  the  two  had  met ; 

And  joined  in  common  thought  and   common 

speech  ; 
And,  often,  many  a  common  good  to  get, 

Had  tender'd  apt  assistance  each  to  each. 
Placed  side  by  side,  their  hands  had  touch'd  and 

trembled, 
Their  eyes  glanced  at  and  through  each  other's 

eyes. 

Behind  the  hands  were  hearts  ;  nor  had  dissembled  ; 
Behind  the  eyes  were  souls ;  there  had  been  smiles 
and  sighs. 

XIV. 

And  then,  anon,  to  him  this  maiden's  frame, 

One  mote  of  many  a  million  in  the  world, 
More  dear  appear'd  than  all  the  gems  that  flame 

In   all   the   stars   through   all    heaven's    welkin 

whirl'd. 

Thus   thought   the   man  ;  and  she,   the   while   he 
thought  it, 

Had  found  such  strength  within  his  frame  of  dust, 
Which  even  winds  could  waste,  that,  ere  he  sought  it, 

Her  soul,  at  rest  with  his,  had  felt  unending  trust. 


A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 


XV. 

And  both  were  right.     The  world  for  every  man 
Holds  but  his  own  world,  be  it  large  or  small. 
Ay,  both  were  right,  fulfill'd  but  nature's  plan, 

Who  in  each  other  found  their  all  in  all. 
The  two  were  wed  ;    and,   soon,  like  love's   own 

flowers, 

Two  babes  the  pair  had  doubled,  and  their  care  ; 
But   babes    in    homes,    like  buds   that  bloom   in 

bowers, 

Keep  out  the  sunlight  but  with  hues  that  hold  it 
there. 

XVI. 

More  sweet  than  bursting  buds  and  sprouting  grain 

That  bring  new  life  to  view  when  spring  draws 

near  ; 
More  bright  than  summer  suns  that  gild  the  plain, 

Ere  autumn  crowns  with  gold  the  old  grown  year  ; 
More  sweet,  more  bright  to  me  appear  the  graces 

That  fill  the  spring  of  childhood's  opening  worth  ; 
More  sweet,  more  bright  the  smiles  of  kindly  faces 

That  in  the  home  make  ripe  the  fruits  of  heaven 
on  earth. 

XVII. 

What  tho'  the  years  that  come  with  drought  and 

frost 
May  bring  disaster  and  may  leave  distress  ? 


SERVING.  253 

The  parents'  faith  can  look  past  harvests  lost 
To  where  the  future  shall  the  harm  redress. 

Their  offspring  whom  their  love  is  fondly  training, 
Show  beauty  in  the  bud,  and  promise  more  : 

And  if  one  season  blast  its  best  attaining, 

Oh,  has  not  early  life  long  years  of  growth  in  store ! 

XVIII. 

So  storms  that  sweep  where  man  in  vain  contends, 
When  forced  unshelter'd  through  the  earth  to 

roam, 

And  trust  in  those  who  prove  but  fair-day  friends, 

Harm  not  the  soul  well  wall'd  within  the  home. 

Let  false  friends  go,  when  those  of  home  stay  near 

one, 

Privations  come  that  but  deprive  of  ease, 
No  other  loss  can  seem  the  most  severe  one  ; 

Nor  other  woe  o'erwhelm  one  toiling  still  for 
these. 

XIX. 

Thus  thought  the  man,  and  lived,  until  he  found 
The  maid,  once  wooed  by  him,  a  matron  grown, 

With  now  a  yielding  nature,  soft  and  round, 
That  cushion 'd  well  all  angles  of  his  own. 

The  spirit  which  his  hopes  of  old  excited, 
Had  found  at  last  the  cradle  of  its  rest 


254  ^  LIFE  IN-  SONG. 

Where,  like  a  child  and  lover  both  united, 

He  dreamt  of  love,  yet  woke  and  thought  real 
love  the  best. 

xx. 

Yet  deem  not  true  all  theories  that  extol 

The  choice  of  those  who  wed  their  opposites. 
Where  love  flows  freely  forth  from  soul  to  soul 

The  channel  from  the  one  the  other  fits. 
Nor  say  the  traits  of  those  without  affection, 

Because  unlike,  endow  their  children  well : 
One  talent  of  which  love  has  full  direction 

Finds  heaven,  while  hate-led  genius  yet  gropes 
near  to  hell. 

XXI. 

The  truth  is  trite  that  earthly  trust  can  wend 

Two  ways  alone  in  which  't  is  ne'er  beguil'd  : 
When,  journeying  with  it,  moves  a  like  train'd  friend, 

Or,  this  impossible,  an  untrain'd  child. 
The  man  we  write  of,  had  found  both  together  ; 

For  life  had  brought  him  wife  and  children  too. 
With  these  contented,  he  cared  scarcely  whether 

One  more  was  true  or  false  ;  indeed  he  scarcely 
knew. 

XXII. 

Years   pass'd   whose   heavens  had  hardly  held   a 

cloud. 
Then,  all  at  once,  disease  that  roam'd  for  prey 


SERVING.  255 

First  made  his  pulse  flee  fever'd  from  the  shroud, 
Then  clutch'd  and  check'd  and  chill'd  it,  where 

he  lay. 
Friends  came  and  urged  him,  other  aims  displacing, 

To  court  the  favors  of  a  foreign  shore, 
Assuring  him  that  there  the  airs  more  bracing 
Would  kindle  in  his  veins  the  healthful  heat  of 
yore. 

XXIII. 

At  first  he  would  not  heed  them.     Life  in  him 

Was  rooted  to  his  home  ;  how  could  it  thrive 
Transplanted,  ay,  dissever'd,  limb  by  limb, 

From  that  which  kept  each  inward  power  alive  ! — 
Yet  forced  away,  he  gain'd  from  distant  nations 

Far  wider  views,  and  wiser  ones  perchance. 
On  earth  men  cannot  choose  their  soul's  relations, 

But  riding  toward  success  must  bridle  circum 
stance. 

XXIV. 

He  bade  farewell  then,  with  a  vague  regret 
A-nd  dreamlike  deeds  and  doubtfulness  of  fact, 

To  wharf — and  wife — and  son — and  infant  pet — 
And  long  blue  hills  round  which  his  vessel  tackt ; 

Then  pass'd  through  dizzy  nights  of  phantom-fight 
ing, 
And  days  whose  close  meals  clogg'd  all  appetite, 


256  A   LIFE  IN-  SONG. 

O'er  seas  where  scarce  one  sail  loom'd  up,  exciting 
Monotony  too  dull  to  tire  him  or  delight. 

xxv. 

Yet  wrong  I  thee,  thou  wide  and  wave-swept  sea, 

And  tireless  wheels  that  whur  so  ceaselessly. 
I  wrong  the  skies  that,  bending  down  to  thee, 

Yet  fail  to  compass  thine  immensity. 
I  wrong  that  mighty  breast,  whose  endless  griev 
ing 

Inspires  the  wild  response  of  sailors'  lays, 
That  bosom  where  omnipotence  is  breathing, 

And  wakes  in  distant  isles  the   heathen's   awe 
struck  praise. 

XXVI. 

Tremendous  monarch  of  all  elements 

Whose  broad  arms  clasp  the  heavens,  their  only 

peer, 
What  age  of  wrong,  what  wail  of  turbulence 

First  hail'd  thee  tyrant  of  our  trembling  sphere  ? 
Who  bade  those  winds  arise  and  rouse  thy  laugh 
ter? 

Those  lightnings  flash  to  fret  thy  fitful  reign  ? 
That  menace  fierce  to  peal  in  thunder  after  ? 

Those  waves  to  howl  and  hiss  at  life  o'erwhelm'd 
and  slain  ? 


SERVING.  257 

XXVII. 

Say  power  of  dread,  is  it  thy  rage  or  joy 

That  hurls  confusion  o'er  the  vessel's  way, 
The  while  't  is  toss'd  as  lightly  as  a  toy, 

Or  cliff-like  driven  to  sink  beneath  the  spray  ? 
Ah,  when  't  is  dash'd  along  the  dark  fog  under, 

No  eye  can  pierce  the  veil  of  instant  doom, 
Till  hidden  rock  or  ice  with  madden'd  wonder 

Roars  at  the  rising  foam, — man's  ghost-track  and 
his  tomb. 

XXVIII. 

No  human  skill  saves  here  ;  men  work,  men  weep. 
Why  shouldst  thou  care,  thou  omnipresent  sea  ? 
The  blasts  that  rave  and  clouds  that  round  thee 

sweep 

Owe  substance,  breath,  existence, — all  to  thee. 
They   gain   their   grandeur,  when   thy  waves   are 

hoary; 
And  when,  worn  out,  their  wayward  might  would 

rest, 

No  rest  they  gain,  till  thou  with  pardoning  glory 
Dost  gather  all  again  on  thy  resentless  breast. 

XXIX. 

Nor  when  fair  skies  or  shores  most  beauty  show, 
Can  they  outrival  thee,  O,  Lord-like  deep  ! 


258  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Within,  and  yet  not  of,  thy  life  below, 

On  thy  calm  breast,  they  all  in  image  sleep  ! 

Ay,  ay,  the  peace  that  follows  thy  restraining 
Of  storms  that  rage  to  vent  thy  wrath  sublime, 

Crowns  thee  victorious,  every  power  containing, 
Thou  God  in  miniature,  eternity  in  time. 

xxx. 

In  vain,  these  thoughts  !  or  aught  that  spake  con 
tent ! 

Too  slowly  sail'd  our  friend  those  waters  o'er, 
Until  one  sunny  morn  their  outlines  bent 

On  purple  downs  of  Ireland's  fertile  shore. 
That  paradise  beyond  the  ocean,  dreary 

With  endless  restlessness  of  roll  and  spray, — 
Could  any  dream  relieve  the  eyelids  weary 

More  restful  than  the  hills  encircling  Queens- 
town  Bay ! 

XXXI. 

Or  where  could  fairer  bands  of  fairies  arm 

Than  Spenser  spied  on  those  fair  banks  of  Lee  ! 

Or  how  could  beauty  bear  one  other  charm 

Where  Lake  Killarney   rock'd  Kate  Kearney's 
glee  ! 

Rare  isle  ! — but  ah,  were  nature's  gifts  expended 
Ere  here  she  reach'd  the  boons  the  soul  demands  ? 


SERVING.  250 

Or  wast  thou  left  by  wealth  and  rank  unfriended, 
To  make  thy  sons,  fled  hence,  all  friends  of  other 
lands  ? 

XXXII. 


Oh  Ireland,  Ireland,  would  some  power  divine 

Could  point  the  way  to  free  thy  peasantry 
From  all  that  fetters  those  proud  souls  of  thine 

In  bonds  of  ignorance  and  poverty  ! 
Yet  still  hope  on  !  For  thee,  tho'  progress  falters, 

The  light  shall  come  for  which  thy  children  pine, 
Which  long  on  other  lands'  less  favor'd  altars 

Has  fanned  the  brightest  life  from  hearts  less 
warm  than  thine. 

XXXIII. 

Past  leaden  Dublin  and  her  silvery  bay 

The  traveller  trod  the  lowly  banks  of  Ern  ; 
Then  dream'd  in  Londonderry  of  the  day 

When  Walker's  breath  made  hope  extinguish'd 

burn  ; 

Then  climb'd  the  Giant's  Causeway,  thrill'd  with 
thinking, 

How  round  those  cliffs  like  Coliseums  grand, 
Once  o'er  the  ships  of  Spain's  armada  sinking, 

His  wave-swept  organ  roar'd  its  Irish  reprimand  ! 


260  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXXIV. 

But  who,  that  sought  historic  mounts  and  lakes, 
Traced  not  fair  Scotia's  image  o'er  the  wave, 
Toward  mounds  and  meads,  where  scarce  a  sun 
beam  breaks 

But  bounds  the  ground  to  star  a  patriot's  grave  ? 
Proud  land,   whose   knees   have   knelt   to  tyrants 

never, 

Whose  clans  of  old  have  kept  their  children  free, 
Where  thrives  an  earnest  thought,  a  high  endeavor, 
That  would  not  take  delight,  when  face  to  face 
with  thee  ? 

XXXV. 

Where  dwell  the  pure  who  would  not  praise  thy 

name? 

Thy  wrong  at  home  precedence  gives  to  worth, 
And  though  in  thy  chill   clime   cold   greets   the 

flame, 

Thy  light,  wherever  borne,  enlightens  earth. 
For  this  would  truth  forget  false  virtue's  features. — 
Awed  still  by  thoughts  of  hallow'd  Sabbath  noons, 
Ye  beggars  never  doff  the  cant  of  preachers  ! 
Nor  squeeze  through  squeaking  bagpipes,  irre 
ligious  tunes  ! 

XXXVI. 

But  who  could  here  note  all  a  stranger's  thought 
That  springs  to  crowd  each  path  where'er  he  turns, 


SERVING.  26l 

While  every  scene  with  new  suggestions  fraught 
Recalls  a  Scott  or  Wallace,  Bruce  or  Burns  ? 
He  delved  through   Bannockburn  ;    he    mounted 

Stirling, 

Where  half-way  up  to  heaven  appear'd  his  view  ; 
Then,  coach-swept,  through  the  cliff-walled  Tros- 

achs  whirling 

Came  first  upon  Fitz-James,  and  then  on  Rod- 
eric  Dhu. 

XXXVII. 

Nor  did  a  force  that  seem'd  enchantment  fail 

To  draw  him  where  the  rills  of  Yarrow  gleam  ; 
Nor  did  an  echo  through  its  drowsy  vale 

Disturb  that  haunt  of  many  a  wizard-dream. 
And  not  a  tree  beside  its  bank  was  leaning, 

Nor  by  it  there  reclined  a  sheltering  rock, 
But  veil'd  for  him  a  poet's  mien  and  meaning, 

From  Newark's  birchen  bowers  to  bare  St.  Mary's 
Loch. 

XXXVIII. 

Then  pass'd  his  feet  to  where  he  spied  on  high 
Helvellyn's  crest  wise  Wordsworth's  haunts  an 
nounce  ; 

Where  bright,  susceptive  lakes  like  mirrors  vie 
To  swell  the  charms  of  else  unrivall'd  mounts  ; 


262  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  sudden  brooklets,  purling  each  a  story, 

Dash  down  each  ledge,  and  dodge  through  every 

brake, 
From    peaks   like    broken   fragments   dropt   from 

glory, 

Whose  heaven-trail'd  clouds  will  not  their  sky- 
like  cliffs  forsake. 

XXXIX. 

And  then — who  could  describe  in  lines  of  rhyme, 

Nor  circumscribe,  the  joy,  so  keen  yet  kind, 
That  England  holds  for  souls  of  every  clime, 

Who  honor  aught  that  nobler  makes  the  mind  ; 
Where  grand  cathedrals  throb  with  chorals  breath 
ing 
Through   forms  of   grace  their  life  of  gracious 

thought ; 

And  ancient  towers  decay,  with  ivy  wreathing 
Fair  forms   of   fresher   art   round   all   the   ruin 
wrought. 

XL. 

Nor  could  mere  words  one's  eager  wish  appease, 
When  striving  to  depict  an  English  home, 

Where  no  crude  care  intrudes  on  cultur'd  ease, 
And  service  vies  but  to  exalt  its  own. 

God  bless  thee  long,  our  own  land's  mother-nation — 
Most  motherly  when  proud  of  England  too  ! — 


SERVING.  263 

God  bless  that  loyalty  to  each  relation, 

Inbred  with  British  blood  from  lord  to  tenant 

through  ! 

XLI. 

Our  land's  descendants  from  thee  ever  boast 

Of  what  they  first  imbibed  upon  thy  knee, — 
That  stalwart  Anglo-Saxon  sense  that  most 

In  church  and  state  keeps  thought  and  action 

free  ; 

Who  fears  a  progress,  charg'd  with  freedom's  mis 
sion, 

That  gives  to  English  genius  broader  scope  ? 
Earth  fears  far  more  thy  foe,  whose  politician 
In  tearing  thy  flag  down  may  lower  the  whole 
world's  hope. 

XLII. 

The  snappish  gales  that  fret  the  channel's  waves 
Whirr'd  soon  the  traveller  toward  the  Belgian 

shore  ; 
Whose  belfries  peal  each  hour  that  labor  craves 

Full  half  an  hour  before  the  hour  is  o'er. 
What  thrift  her  fields  evince!  her  art  what  beauty! 
But  would  her  strong,  rough  Rubens  had  but 
guess'd 


264  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

The  joy  a  wise  man  finds,  as  well  as  duty, 
In  making  art  portray  fair  nature  at  her  best. 

XLIII. 

Of  art  he  also  found  a  heedful  school, 

As  cleanly  trimm'd  as  dikes  that  guard  her  farms, 
Where  crouching  Holland  makes  the  sea  her  tool, 

Nor  lets  one  breeze  escape  her  windmills'  arms. 
This  thorough  race,  what  have  they  ever  slighted  ? — 

E'en  in  their  church  what  tireless  energy, 
Where  crowds,  in  chants  monotonous  united, 

Praise  Him  who  stretched  their  plains,  in  like 
monotony. 

XLIV. 

How  vain  is  worship,  when  its  grandeur  calls 

Regard  away  from  heaven  to  human  skill  ! 
Far  better  level  all  our  temples'  walls 

Than  hide  the  thought  of  Him  who  rear'd  the 

hill! 
Ay,  better  hush  the  praise  that  stirs  the  senses, 

Than  have  it  drown  the  still  small  voice  within  ; 
And  better  have  no  church  for  our  offenses 

Than  splendid  rites  that  daze  the  soul  made  blind 
to  sin. 

XLV. 

*T  is  grand  to  be,  where  plain  strong  spirits  praise 
Their  Spirit-God  in  ways  as  plain  and  strong ; 


SERVING.  265 

Ay,  grand  to  be  wherever  life  essays 

To  echo  forth  its  best  in  sweetest  song. 
Our  friend   now  found   a  land,   where,  ere   their 

weaning, 

The  children  clap  their  hands  to  classic  airs, 
And  gray-hair'd  sires,  on  canes  or  crutches  leaning, 
Hear    no   profounder  truths  than   those   which 
music  bears. 

XLVI. 

There  flows  a  genial  force  from  things  we  see, 

Which  blends  with  subtlest  currents  of  the  mind, 
And  though  it  leaves  each  soul's  expression  free, 

It  forms  the  motive  power  that  moves  mankind. 
It  pleads  in  music,  argues  in  suggestions  ; 

And  bursts  to  passion  in  philosophy  ; 
In  lieu  of  wielding  arms,  it  merely  questions  ; 

And  in  the  world  it  thrives  the  most  in  Germany. 

XLVII. 

How  blest  her  sons  whose  needs  appear  supplied, 
When  but  the  spirit's  wants  their  lives  possess  ; 
And,  with  its  joyous  freedom  satisfied, 

Scarce  care  for  what  the  world  would  call  suc 
cess. 

Whoe'er  may  seek  for  truth  to  make  inventions 
That  strain  all  lore  through  lucre's  well-filled 
sieve, 


266  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Their  souls,  content  with  having  high  intentions, 
Rejoice  in  life  because  it  seems  a  joy  to  live, — 

XLVIII. 

A  joy  to  be  a  boy  with  endless  hope, 

A  joy  to  be  a  man,  mature  and  strong, 
By  day  augmenting  labor's  widening  scope, 

By  night  at  rest  with  "  wife  and  wine  and  song." 
Let  others'  thirst  at  once  drain  pleasure's  glasses, 

The  German's  lip  first  blows  from  his  the  foam, 
And,  ere  to  sip  a  second  glass  he  passes, 

The  others  doze  in  stupor,  or  reel  raving  home. 

XLIX. 

Yet  who  could  not  wish  here  for  less  that  bars 

The  outward  action  from  the  inward  thought ; 
And  more  humanity,  and  less  hussars, 

To  further  on  the  progress  all  have  sought  ? 
Who  could  not  wish  for  faith  and  aspiration 

More  worldly  scope  ? — for  there  were  times,  one 

reads, 
When,  not  content  with  theories,  the  nation 

Led  all  mankind  to  truth  not  more  in  dreams 
than  deeds. 

L. 

Across  the  Alps,  where  press'd  the  Goth  and  Hui 
Long  years  ago,  when  Rome  was  in  her  prime, 


SERVING.  267 

Our  pilgrim  now  was  brought  with  monk  and  nun 
To  worship  art — the  one  thing  there  sublime. 

For  there,  in  those  days,  hardly  one  dared  mutter, 
E'en  in  the  gracious  tones  of  Italy, 

What  later  patriots  lost  their  lives  to  utter, — 
The  call  that  made  all  heed  the  need  of  liberty. 

LI. 

The  earth's  Creator  made  this  earth  for  man, 

And  promised  heaven  to  those  who  used  it  right ; 
And  heirs  of  heaven  should  follow  none  whose  ban 

Prevents  their  moving  onward  toward  the  light. 
Why  serve  a  king  preventing  this  ?  or  nation  ? 

The  patriot's  home  is  where  his  duties  be. 
Why  serve  a  church  ? — God's  promise  of  salvation 

Is  not  of  peace  on  earth  through  fear  of  priests 
men  see. 

LII. 

Away  with  all  the  forms  in  state  or  church 

That  aid  the  aristocracies  of  earth  ; 
And  make  men  rate  the  bad  or  good  they  search 

By  outward  accidents  of  rank  or  birth. 
Away  with  honoring  spirit  less  than  station, 

And  crowning  men  for  blood,  and  not  for  brain ; 
With  testing  worth  by  garb  or  occupation  : 

And  letting  vice  by  might  maintain  itself,  and 
reign. 


268  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

LIII. 

Would  hope  could  prophesy  this  change  for  earth  ! 

But  one  there  is  that,  like  another  Hun, 
May  prove  a  foe  to  many  a  work  of  worth, 

And  out-Rome  Rome,  and  crush  all  love  has  won. 
Hail  Russia,  free  !  but  if  thou  stay  despotic, 

Hail  Europe,  when  she  prunes  thine  upstart-shoot, 
An  outgrowth,  Asiatic  and  exotic, 

That  can  but  bloom,  alas,  to  bear  a  deadly  fruit ! 

LIV. 

But  thou,  our  country's  friend,  and  valor's  own, 

O  France,  rash  champion  in  all  conquests  new, 
Who  has  not  bow'd  when  daz'd  before  thy  throne, 

Nor  feared  on  it  to  find  a  tyrant  too  ? 
Top-wave,  thou  art,  where  flows  our  civilization  ; 

Thy  white  crest  shows  the  wind  that  sweeps  the 

sea, 
A  courtier's  dress  or  country's  devastation, 

Whate'er  our  fashions  be,  they  all  are  set  by  thee. 

LV. 

And  some  are  wise  ones  !  Would  all  homes  could 
own 

The  courtesies  that  grace  the  Frenchman's  pride. 
Alas,  our  own  forms  oft  repeat  alone 

What  apes  and  parrots  might,  as  well,  have  tried. 


SERVING.  269 

Defects  we  have,  but  overdo  confession 

Who  shroud  our  own  home-life  in  foreign  ways, 

And,  short  of  thought,  intent  on  long  expression, 
Curve  off  to  round  in  French  each  straight-aim'd 
Saxon  phrase. 

LVI. 

Forgive  us,  France,  if  fools  or  fashion-plates 

Have  made  us  rank  thee  foremost  but  in  arts 
Disguising  well  a  world  of  worthless  traits  : 

True  worth  hast  thou  within  thy  heart  of  hearts. 
And  hadst  thou  only  wrought  us  works  of  beauty 

Earth's  unattractive  forms  to  guise  and  glove, 
Still  beauty  in  this  world  ranks  next  to  duty, 

And  those  who  make  life  lovely  next  to  those  who 
love. 

LVII. 

But  grander  arts  embodying  grander  thought 

Amid  thine  architectural  glories  throng  ; 
And,  where  the  painter's  brush  so  well  has  wrought, 

Thine  orators  have  well  denounced  the  wrong. 
Let  them  as  well  renounce  all  wrong  ambition, 

Lest  with  some  later  revolution  cursed 
Their  genius,  like  the  lightning,  fire  its  mission 

By  brilliant  strokes  that  but  make  dire  the  gloom 
they  burst. 


27O  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

LVIII. 

Thus  mused  and  wrote  the  traveller,  moving  on, 

And   rinding,   stored   in   each   new   scene,  new 

thought. 
He  pass'd  through  Spain,  so  beautiful,  so  wan, 

Nor  then  forgot  what  Spain,  of  old,  had  wrought. 
He  climbed  the  glacier,  and  the  high  Alps  o'er  it. 

He  paused  the  sober  vineyard's  toil  to  see. 
If  wisdom  came,  let  go  what  came  before  it : 

'T  is  no  aristocrat  to  need  a  pedigree. 

LIX. 

Yet  oh,  how  dear  thy  sons,  where'er  they  stray, 

Hold  thee,  our  own  just  Land,  in  memory  ! 
Where  every  set  and  sect  may  have  their  say, 

And  worth  alone  insures  nobility  ; 
Where    thrill    the    breasts    of    freedom's    humble 
mothers, 

Who  feel  their  offspring  have  but  God  to  serve, 
And  in  the  race  they  run  with  common  brothers, 

May  win  whatever  crown  of  life  their  lives  deserve. 

LX. 

But  our  republic  here  must  bring  to  birth 
A  nobler  man  than  ever  lived  before  ; 

Or  else  from  those  who  have  not  grown  in  worth 
Will  tyrants  rise  as  they  have  risen  of  yore. 


SERVING.  271 

The  home,  the  school,  the  church,  where  no  crown 

trains  one, 

Must  teach  of  reverence  and  of  truth  supreme, 
Or  many  a  will,  not  taught  what  best  restrains  one, 
Will  break  the  free  land's  peace  and  end  the  free 
man's  dream. 

LXI. 

Our  wanderer's  home  was  far  ;  yet  this  but  drew 

More  frequent  missives  from  his  faithful  wife, 
In  which  her  fancy  marshall'd  facts  to  view 

Arrayed  like  hosts  that  range  in  fairy  life. 
Each  week  had  brought  them,  till  afar  he  wander'd 

An  unknown  wild  of  Asia  to  explore, 
Where  news  come  not,  but  oft,  as  there  he  ponder'd, 

Would  hope  forestall  his  joy  to  hear  from  home 
once  more. 

LXII. 

Alas  his  hope  but  died  as  many  do  ; 

For  when,  at  last,  the  months  had  brought  to  hand 
Those  long-missed  letters,  lo,  he  finds  them  few  ; 

Then,  while  he  reads  them,  scarce  can  understand 
The  news  they  bear  of  how  his  children  languish  ; 

For   both,   he  learns,   "  are  sick — are  dying — 

dead  " — 
Then  blotting  tears  reveal  their  mother's  anguish, 

Who  writes  no  more.    "  Yet  God,"  he  sighs,  "  is 
overhead  ? " 


2/2  A   LIFE  IN"  SONG. 

LXIII. 

Another  note  had  come  ;  a  friend  of  old 

Of  friendship  wrote — and  then,  in  words  precise, 
Advised,  for  reasons  vaguely  left  untold, 

His  turning  homeward — could  he  need  advice  ? — 
He  did  turn  homeward  ;  nor  the  wild  commotion 

Of  waves  that  swept  the  sea  from  shore  to  shore, 
And  not  the  lone  expanse  of  sky  and  ocean 

Seem'd  half  as  wild  and  lonely  as  the  soul  he  bore. 

LXIV. 

At  last  the  sea  was  cross'd  ;  he  reach'd  the  land  : 

But  oh,  how  changed  was  every  object  here 
From  when,  a  year  before,  each  loving  hand 

Had  waved  farewell  from  off  that  fading  pier ! 
None  now  were  near  to  give  his  form  a  greeting. 

He  sought  his  home,  but  found  it  closed  and  still. 
The  door  with  hollow  echoes  mock'd  his  beating. 

He  seem'd  a  wretched  thing  ;  and  turned  and 
left  the  sill. 

LXV. 

His  house  was  built  beside  those  lordly  banks 
That  rise  to  greet  the  Hudson's  glimmering  train ; 

Where  man,  as  if  to  it  were  due  his  thanks, 
Has  decked  with  art  its  every  hill  and  plain. 


SERVING.  273 

Below  him  flowed  that  rare  and  royal  river, 
So  white  with  sails,  and  waveless  tho*  so  wide, 

And  first  of  rivers  destin'd  to  deliver 

To  steam  and  wheel  the  power  to  stem  their  cur 
rents'  tide. 

LXVI. 

A  place  there  was,  not  distant  from  his  door, 

Beneath  an  elm,  far  seen  that  region  through, 
Where  with  his  babes  he  oft  had  sat  of  yore 

And  mused  on  life,  and  all  the  work  to  do. 
To  this  his  feet  now  turn'd — how  sad  our  story  ! — 

Above  that  place  of  joy  the  same  tree  waves, 
But  o'er  three  mounds,  on  which  the  frost  lies  hoary, 

Where  now  his  wife  and  children  sleep  in  fresh- 
made  graves. 

LXVII. 

And  there  in  helpless  misery  did  he  stay 

Until  that  wintry  day  grew  chill  and  dim, 
And  anguish  burst  its  aching  bonds  to  pray, — 

The  only  act  those  graves  had  left  for  him. 
How  oft,  for  all,  the  only  vent  for  sorrow  ! 

The  only  outlet  that  the  soul  can  get 
Through  which  to  issue  forth  and  seek  a  morrow, 

Past  earthly  shadows  where  the  sun  can  never 
set! 


2/4  A  LIFE  ?N  SONG. 

LXVIII. 

And  was  he  answered  ? — He  remember'd  soon 

The  things  his  friend,  not  seen  yet,  might  unfold  : 
And  sought  him,  and  beneath  the  pale  cold  moon 

Heard  all  his  cautious  tale,  so  softly  told. 
About  his  wife  it  was — how,  sad  and  lonely 

Without  her  babes,  her  mind  at  first  gave  way, 
Then  when  her  spirit  cast  a  faint  light  only 

Athwart  the  face  it  brighten'd,  gently  left  the 
clay 

LXIX. 

Our  wanderer  heard  ;  and  soon  again  appears 
Yet  more  a  wanderer,  journeying  now  toward 

naught ; 
Still  young,  if  one  must  reckon  life  by  years, 

But  old  through  woe   that  speeds   the  pace  of 

thought. 

Now  scans  he  city  crowds  beside  him  thronging  ; 
Now   moves,    a   stranger   through   some  village 

street ; 

Now  haunts  the  churches  with  a  fearful  longing  ; 
But  none  who  hear  his  words  appear  his  wants  to 
meet. 

LXX. 

From  east  to  west  he  went  ;  from  north  to  south ; 
Led  there  at  last  he  scarcely  cared  for  what. 


SERVING.  2/5 

A  change  was  good,  and  from  a  stranger's  mouth 
A  thought  might  fill  the  ebb  of  pangs  forgot. 

What  courteous  homes  he  saw  his  moods  to  lighten  ! 
What  patriarchal  pride  of  blood  he  found  ! 

But  like  a  cloud  a  rainbow  arch  may  brighten, 
Beneath  all  lay  the  slave,  in  soul  and  body  bound. 

LXXI. 

He  left  the  south,  and  wander'd  through  the  west, 

Where,  like  some  Eden's  garden  form'd  anew, 
The  Mississippi's  plains  reward  man's  rest 

With  boons  that  elsewhere  to  his  toil  are  due. 
There  sods  are  flower-beds,  needing  not  a  florist ; 

There  every  field  a  vale  where  moisture  flows  ; 
And  every  barren  swamp,  or  cliff,  or  forest, 

A  mere  mirage  in  clouds  where  labor  finds  no 
foes. 

LXXII. 

But  in  the  east  there  lie  sky-drifting  hills. 

Their  cliffs,  cloud-coursed  in  heights  of  mystery, 
Dim  dreamy  glens,  and  flash'd  surprise  of  rills, 

Had  train'd  in  youth  his  faith  and  fantasy. 
He  loved  them,  as  a  child  may  love  his  mother, 

A  simple  child  who  cannot  tell  you  why, 
Yet  something  feels  he  feels  not  for  another, 

Too  near  the  springs  of  life  for  question  or  reply. 


276  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

LXXIII. 

To  these  he  oft  would  turn — yet  not  to  rest  ; 

Nay,  as  the  flush'd  and  fever'd  blood  will  start 
About  the  shot  that  rends  a  soldier's  breast, 

As  if  mere  movement  could  remove  the  smart, 
Unrest  relieved  his  pain,  each  month  revealing 

A  milder  movement  and  a  firmer  eye  ; 
Not  like  a  man's,  who  never  had  deep  feeling, 

But  who  has  learn'd  to  meet  expected  grief,  and 
die. 

LXXIV. 

Then  some  he  saw  in  kindly  accent  spoke  ; 

And  some  appear'd  to  seek  in  him  a  friend. 
And  they  were  kind  to  cheer  his  heart  with  hope ; 
But  could  they  ever  help  him  toward  his  end  ? 
Ah  me,  what  was  the  wish  his  work  inspiring  ? 
Could  hills  and  plains  the  need  he  sought  sup- 

ply?- 

And  though  pursued  with  sinews  never  tiring, 
Could  ever  that  which  always  lured  him  on  seem 
nigh  ? 

LXXV. 

He  sought  he  knew  not  what  :  he  found  mankind. 

In  all  the  regions  where  his  feet  would  wend, 
'T  would  thrill  his  heart  in  every  sphere  to  find 

How  love  reveal'd  can  always  find  a  friend. 


SERVING.  277 

Who  have  not  faults  ?  who  are  not  faults  regretting  ? 

Who  wish  not  much  ?  who  ever  gain  their  aim  ? 
Who  form  not  plans  for  all  mankind's  abetting  ? 

And  is  not  human  nature  in  us  all  the  same  ? 

LXXVI. 

Who  search  the  world,  most  wonder  there  to  see 
How  few  the  wonders  are,  where'er  they  stray. 
Behold,  the  same  fair  children,  wild  with  glee ', 
The  same  proud  parent,  watching  where  they 

play; 
The  same  strong  men,  bent    downward  by  life's 

troubles  ; 
The   same   sad   dames   with   tired    eyes   turn'd 

above  ; 
The  same  small  graves  where  drop  life's  bursted 

bubbles, 

Made  dark  by  fears  of  ill,  and  bright  by  hopes  of 
love. 

LXXVII. 

Nor  therefore  view  with  heartless  unconcern 
Each  special  aim  of  manhood's  general  dust ; 

But  fan  each  spark  of  ardor  that  may  burn 

In  breasts  that  in  their  own  soul's  calling  trust. 

For  though  to  reach  their  goals  men  from  us  sever, 
Why,  in  their  hearts,  may  not  heave  ceaselessly, 


278  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

As  in  our  own,  an  endless  want  that  never 

Can   free  those   from   ourselves  who  need   our 
sympathy. 

LXXVIII. 

All  woe  is  not  the  loud  complaint  that  pleads 
Where  startled  pity  weeps  in  sad  surprise  ; 
Nor  bliss  the  gorgeous  guise  that  decks  the  deeds 

That  win  wide  homage  from  admiring  eyes. 
Nay,   one   may   weep,   despite   men's    cheers   too 

lonely, 

Because  his  inward  spirit  stays  unknown  ; 
And  smile  amid  dispraise  world-wide,  if  only 
One  other  soul  be  wending  heavenward  with  his 
own. 

LXXIX. 

A  foe  we  meet  upon  a  desert  plain, 

Where  we  who  meet  turn  back  to  back,  and  part, 
Is  better  than  a  friend  who  brings  disdain 

To  greet  the  utterance  of  a  trusting  heart. 
A  slighter  cloud  above  the  Christ  had  hover'd 

If  men  had  made  his  flesh  their  only  mark  ; 
His  woe  was  love  that  felt  love  undiscover'd, 

The  Father's  face  withdrawn,  and  dying  in  the 
dark. 

LXXX. 

How  many  more  must  grieve  like  him  and  die 
Before  their  inward  love  can  be  reveal'd 


SERVING.  279 

To  those  that  judge  but  by  the  outward  eye, 
And  cannot  trust  men's  motives  if  conceal'd  ! 

But  let  us  hope,  while  knowledge  still  advances, 
That  men  will  learn  to  trust  in  manhood  more  ; 

As  trade  that  once  crept  on  with  lifted  lances 
Has  learn 'd,  at  last,  unarm'd,  to  feed  each  hungry 
shore. 

LXXXI. 

When  men  learn  all,  and  skies  that  dome  earth  here 

Roll  back   to   let   the    light  of  heaven   stream 

through, 
Grand  truths  may  in  the  simplest  things  appear, 

In  outlines  which  before  all  mortals  knew. 
Let  ancient  lore  trace  man's  ancestral  story 

To  mystic  loins  of  superhuman  birth, 
The  grandest  good  in  which  our  times  would  glory 

Is  merely  to  inherit,  at  the  last,  an  earth, — 

LXXXII. 

An  earth  made  perfect,  where  converting  love 
Makes  each  man  share  his  heritage  with  each, 

And  prove  his  faith  in  heaven's  pure  life  above 
By  bringing  heaven  within  each  mortal's  reach. 

For  tho'  a  grander  hope  the  soul  confesses, 
So  long  as  human  nature  guides  its  aim, 


280  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Who  learns  to  be  a  true  man  here,  possesses 

The  most  that  He  who  made  man  what  he  is  can 
claim. 

LXXXIII. 

And  He  who  made  man  what  he  is — ah,  me  ! 

To  make  him  what  he  should  be,  more  and  more, 
May  send  the  storms  that  sweep  life's  troubled  sea 

To  bring  from  depths  the  gems  that  line   the 

shore. 
Oft  spirits,  rent  within  by  grief  and  sighing, 

Show  each  on  whom  their  inward  treasures  pour 
A  wealth  of  worth  that  long  has  there  been  lying, 

But  not  by  one  about  them  ever  seen  before. 

LXXXIV. 

And  e'en  full  clouds  may  empty.     Men  meet  woe 

As  moaning  orchards  meet  an  April  blast : 
Their  wounded  limbs  that  first  sway  to  and  fro 

Are  red  with  blossoms,  when  the  storm  has  past. 
So  sometimes  trouble  keeps  the  feelings  younger 

Than  ever  joy  could.     Many  souls  they  say, 
Deprived  of  light,  for  simple  sunbeams  hunger, 

And  robb'd  of  rest,  contract  no  mildew  of  decay. 

LXXXV. 

Then  think  not  love  is  mortal,  or  can  die. 
No  floods  can  flow  but  it  has  power  to  brave, 


SERVING.  28l 

Too  near  in  nature  to  the  heaven  on  high, 

To  sink  resistless  in  an  earthly  wave. 
More  strong  than  death,  bereaved  of  loved  ones 

living, 

True  love  will  aim  anon  for  all  men's  good  ; 
For  this  its  thought,  time,  strength,  and  substance 

giving,— 
Ah,  could  it  find  an  aim  sublimer,  if  it  would  ? 

LXXXVI. 

So  would  you  find  him  whom  these  lines  recall, 

Deem  not  his  ways  to  mournful  moods  adjust, 
Ah  no,  for  shade  no  more  than  light  will  fall 

On  souls  that  still  in  God  and  man  can  trust. 
To  him  who  still  has  faith  in  generous  action 

Full  many  a  thankful  eye  will  love  confess  ; 
And  many  a  hope  that  thrills  life's  nobler  faction 

On  many  a  lip  assure  his  life  of  sure  success. 

LXXXVII. 

Because  assured  of  this  in  life  within, 

He  lives  prepared  to  bless  the  life  without. 

It  is  within  that  love's  warm  springs  begin, 
Whose  genial  flow  makes  fertile  all  about. 

For  years  this  man  to  free  the  slaves  had  striven  ; 
This  aim  had  roused  his  efforts  and  his  prayers  ; 


282  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  now  for  this  he  felt  that  God  had  given 

All  lessons  earth  had  taught,  and  freedom  from 
its  cares. 

LXXXVIII. 

With  no  home-ties,  he  wanders  through  the  state, 

And  prophesies  convulsion  and  reform 
To  those  that  feel  they  have  not  long  to  wait, 

Who  heed  in  him  the  mutterings  of  the  storm. 
He  spends  his  years  in  pleading  and  in  proving, — 

And  every  year  to  more  who  mind  his  call, — 
How  life  on  earth  toward  life  in  heaven  is  moving, 

And  freedom  is  a  gift  that  God  will  yet  give  all. 

LXXXIX. 

The  days  go  by.     He  early  toils  and  late  ; 

And  finds  no  time  to  give  his  grief  a  thought, 
While  hopes  that  loom  about  him,  fair  and  great, 

O'ershadow  all  the  loss  the  years  have  brought. 
And  tho'  no  more  his  old  home's  forms  and  faces 

Await  him,  when  his  feet  no  more  can  roam, 
In  every  human  form  and  face  he  traces 

A  likeness  of  the  lost  that  makes  each  house  a 
home. 

xc. 

Here  ends  my  story.     Though,  perchance,  it  seem 
Too  old  a  story,  weigh  it  yet,  until 


SERVING.  283 

You  think,  once  more,  what  men,  whom  all  esteem, 
The  same  old  story  in  their  lives  fulfil. 

We  know  them  now  ;  but  ah,  there  is  no  knowing 
The  pain  that  gave  their  souls  their  second  birth, 

When  fetters  of  the  flesh  fell  deathward,  showing 
That  love   for   all   one's   kind  which  makes  a 
heaven  of  earth. 


OTE    SEVENTH. 


"  Years  pass'd,"  the  soldier  on 
the  morrow  said, 

"  In  which  the  poet,  waiving  all 

things  else, 
With  steps  upon  the  threshold  of  old  age, 
Wrought  on  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  youth, 
Who  thus  would  free  the  bondman.     Far  his  feet 
Would  journey  through  the  land  from  town  to  town. 
The  trumpet-blast  of  truth  his  lips  would  blow, 
Though  courting  oft  maltreatment  by  his  pleas, 
Roused  throngs,   erelong,   with  whom  he  march'd 

unarm'd, 

A  champion  of  that  love  of  man  for  man 
Which  cannot  rest  ere  all  have  liberty. 
At  last,  when  old  and  new  thought,  ranged  in  sides, 
Had  brought  the  war  that  was  inevitable, 
Enlisting  in  the  ranks  he  fought  his  way 
From  private  soldier  up  to  general. 
Nor  did  the  brave  man  leave  that  sea  of  war, 
O'erswept  by  storms  and  strewn  with  many  a  wreck, 
284 


NOTE   SEVENTH.  285 

Before  the  waves  roar'd  only  where  the  surf 
Foretold  the  channels  of  the  peaceful  port. 
And  when,  at  last,  throughout  the  land's  extent 
Men's  hearts  were  beating  wildly  as  the  drums, 
And  shouts  were  echoing  widely  as  the  bells 
That  made  the  whole  air  vibrate  with  delight 
Because  of  victory,  assuring  peace 
That  with  it  brought  the  freedom  of  the  slave, 
And  made  a  nation  of  divided  States, — 
Then  was  it,  when  he  saw  his  youth's  ideals 
And  all  the  purpose  of  his  age  fulfill'd, — 
Then  was  it  that  the  poet,  glad  to  drop 
The  sword  and  belt  and  soldier's  uniform, 
Once  more  with  eager  spirit  seized  his  pen, 
And  wrote  these  lines  amid  the  dawn  of  peace, 
Not  trembling  softly  in  the  doubtful  dusk, 
But  soaring  like  the  lark's  lay,  touching  heaven." 


Life   I    watch,   like   one    at 
sunset,  high  upon  some 
western  hill, 
Looking  eastward  while  the  sunbeams  with  their 

light  the  valleys  fill. 
He  beholds  a  world   of  beauty,    and   its   darkest 

shade  is  cast 
By  his  own  sun-girded  shadow,  stretching  o'er  it, 

vague  and  vast. 
Life  to  me  lies  like  his  view  there,  when  a  storm 

has  thunder'd  by, 
And  the  forests  flash  with  raindrops,  and  a  rainbow 

bends  on  high. 
Brightly  gleam   the   plains  below  him,  where  the 

golden  rivers  run  ; 
Brightly  glow  the  clouds  behind  him,   where  in 

glory  sets  the  sun; 
And  he  knows  night's  curtain,  falling  o'er  the  little 

world  he  sees, 

286 


WATCHING.  287 

Falls  away  from  heaven  to  show  there  worlds  of 

worlds  whose  light  it  frees. 
Thus  I  watch  the  earth  and  air,  and  find  that  age 

like  youth  is  bright, 
And  life's  eve  and  dawn,  like  day's,  are  flush'd  the 

most  with  heavenly  light. 


ii. 

What  though  day  will  soon  forsake  me,  what  though 

death  so  near  me  draws  ? 
I  have  seen  my  cause  triumphant ;  nor  was  I  its 

only  cause. 
Truth  may  yet  move  on  without  me.     What  is  one 

that  he  should  thrive  ? 
Ah,  though  high  he  be  in  station,  though  he  nobly 

aim  and  strive, — 
Yet  the  small  man  in  his  cottage  and  the  great  man 

in  his  hall 

Here  fill  equal  spheres,  the  agents  of  the  power  at 
work  in  all. 


in. 

Deem  not  this  the  power  of  evil : — Nay,  the  tri 
umph  of  the  wrong 

Brings  too  oft  its  own  destruction  ;  nor  need  men 
await  this  long. 


288  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

More  is  always  brew'd  in  error  than  befogs  the 
thinking  mind. 

That  which  moves  the  springs  of  action  flows  to 
action  like  in  kind. 

Wrong  that  thrives,  becomes  presumption  ;  plans 
to  make  the  right  retreat  ; 

Blows  with  madden'd  lips  the  trumpet  heralding  its 
own  defeat, 

Blows,  till  righteous  indignation  hails  its  oppor 
tunity, 

Glad  to  break  a  guilty  peace,  and  crush  its  foe 
eternally. 

Who,  when  arbitration  once  has  been  submitted  to 
the  sword, 

Dare  or  care  to  shield  the  wrong  from  shot  and  shell 
against  it  pour'd  ? 

O,  I  hail  the  crackling  barriers  of  expedient  com 
promise. 

Let  them  fall,  nor  more  obstruct  the  pathways  of 
the  brave  and  wise. 

O,  I  welcome  shouts  of  war  when  men  defend 
humanity  : 

They  may  die,  but  right  will  live,  and  God,  and 
give  the  victory. 

IV. 

Oft,  alas,  for  men  and  nations  there  are  times  that 
are  not  blest, 


WA  TCHING,  289 

When  the   surface  veils  the  substance,  and  o'er- 

looked  is  all  the  rest. 
As  men's  lives  are,  so  their  thoughts  are  ;  groping 

in  the  dark  they  feel 
Forms  of  flesh  or  robes  that  wrap  them,  and  forget 

what  both  conceal. 
Clouds  hang  low,  and  hide  the  sky,  and  make  men 

think  that  heaven  is  low, 
Till  they  kiss  the  dust,  half  hoping  God  is  dust, 

and  worshipt  so. 
Then  because,  indeed,  they  need  it,  clear  as  light, 

come  proofs  to  show 
How  the  breath  of  truth  is  keener  than  the  bayonets 

of  its  foe  ; 
How  the  gentlest  words  can  waken  consternation 

and  despair  ; 
Though  they  leave  no  track  behind  them  ;  nor  with 

shadows  dim  the  air  ; 
Do  not  glisten  in  the  sunshine  ;  do  not   thunder 

o'er  the  plain  ; 
Do  not   flash   the   cannon's   lightning ;    leave  no 

smoke  to  shroud  the  slain  ; — 
Words  of  truth,  re-echoed  like  the  words  of  Christ, 

that  everywhere, 
When  they   summon   powers   that   lurk  in   forms 

possess'd  of  evil  there, 
Make  them  rend  the  form  that  held  them,  leave  it 

writhing  on  the  ground, 


290  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

While  their  spirits  fly  to  darkness  and  forgetfulness 
profound. 

v. 

E'en  so  now  the  heaven  has  triumph'd,  while  upon 

the  earth  beneath 
Sprang  and  flash'd  the  sword  long   rusted,   then 

made  bright  resought  the  sheath. 
Friends,  forgive  this  exultation.      When  the  old 

man's  joy  appears, 
Let  the  truth  forever  young  rejuvenate  his  frosted 

years. 
Think  you   mortals   err   in    tracing   tokens    of    a 

heavenly  hand, 
Where  the  bondman  gains  his   freedom,  and   the 

freeman  saves  his  land  ? 
Or  is  then  that  cry,  inspiring  every  nobler  army's 

van, 
"  Liberty  ! "  a  cry  that  lies  the  while  it  stirs  the 

heart  of  man  ? 
Nay,  I  do  not  err  ;  't  was  wrong  that  led  to  Adam's 

curse  and  Cain's, 
Craved  a  king,  and  cringed  for  Saul,  and  marched 

on  Babylon  in  chains. 
Those  who  war  against  oppression  but  fulfil  the 

Lord's  decree  : 
They  but  loose  the   heavy  burden,  letting   souls 

oppress'd  go  free. 


WATCHING.  291 

VI. 

I  am  old  ;  my  sleep  is  troubled ;  and  full  oft  my 

daily  thought, 
Plunging  into  darkness,  peoples  all  the  night  with 

what  it  sought. 
When  my  eyelids  droop,  my  spirit  finds  a  realm  of 

visions  rare, 
And  my  old  age  may  be  childish,  but  I  watch  and 

wonder  there. 

vn. 

Once  I  saw  a  mortal  sailing  toward  a  lone  isle  of 

the  sea, 
Where,  he  thought,  no  other's  will  would  check  his 

own  that  would  be  free. 
First  upon  the  shore  he  rested  ;  then,  not  born  to 

dwell  alone, 
Longing  to  be  loved,  his  nature  broke  away  from 

reason's  throne. 
Howled  the  winds  like  witches'  voices  ;  moved  the 

shades  like  ghostly  forms, 
While  the  leaves  like  footsteps  rustled  'twixt  the 

thunders  and  the  storms. 
Till  the  cynic,  far  from  manhood,  all  man's  nobler 

traits  forgot, 

Curst  himself  and  earth  and  all  things,  rest  or  free 
dom  finding  not. 


A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 


VIII. 

Then  I  saw  a  wiser  instinct,  flowing  forth  unitedly, 
Where  were  crowds  that  came  together  at  the  call 

of  liberty, 
Which,  like  thunder  on  the  hillside,  rousing  rills 

from  every  spring, 
When  they  dash  to  seas  that  madly  o'er  the  rocks 

the  breakers  fling, 
Roused,  anon,  a  mass  of  mortals,  who  beneath  a 

hissing  tide, 
Quench'd  the  flaming  guns  that  bellow'd  from  a 

tyrant's  tower  defied. 
Then  anon  the  wrath  subsided  ;  but  the  mob,  ere 

back  it  roll'd, 
Had  to  havoc  swept  the  good  as  well  as  bad  that 

thrived  of  old. 

IX. 

Then  said  many  :  "  Note  and  know  now  what  a  war 

of  wills  will  bring, 
Where  no  master-will  controls   them."     "Long," 

they  cried,  "  long  live  the  king  !  " 
Held  they  then  to  truth  or  error  ?   Every  well  com 

pounded  lie 
Mixes  truth  to  please  the  truthful  with  the  false  to 

poison  by. 
Were  they  right  or  wrong,  no  people  crown  new 

kings  like  Saul,  I  see, 


WA  TCHING.  293 

Till,  made  slaves  by  men,  they  fear  them  more  than 
God  who  makes  all  free. 

x. 

O  ye  masters  and  oppressors,  ye  who  flout  what 
poets  do, 

Keen  ye  are,  to  treat  as  dreams  the  things  these 
dreamers  deem  are  true. 

Dreams   they  are,  forsooth,  for   men,  when   wide 
awake  to  gains  of  earth, 

Selfish  here  and  there   suspicious,  all  assail  each 
other's  worth. 

Each  a  tyrant  where  he  dare  be,  crowds  his  neigh 
bor  from  his  path, 

Whining   then  for   laws   to  limit   and   restrain  his 
neighbor's  wrath, 

Whining  till  he  find  a  tyrant,  who  with  acts  that 
goad  and  bind, 

Fitly  bodies  forth  the  tyrant  whom  he  serves  in  his 
own  mind. 

All  in  vain  men  sign  for  freedom,  heedless  where 
its  boons  begin  ; 

Life  is  one  ;  and  souls  are  never  free  without  till 
free  within. 

Man  himself  it  is  that  limits  all  the  good  that  might 
be  his, 

He  himself  whose  fears  and  failings  hold  him  halt 
ing  where  he  is. 


294  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XI. 

Men  must  learn  of   wiser  action  ;   all   their  aims 

must  nobler  be, 
Love  for  all  mankind  must  rule  them,  ere  their  laws 

can  leave  them  free. 
Only  when  the  right  impels  them,  will  they  cease 

their  long  complaints  ; 
Only  love  for  every  duty  moves  unconscious  of 

restraints. 
Only  when  no  malice  moves  them  can  the  fetters 

clank  no  more  ; 
Only  love  in  every  heart  can  open  every  prison-door. 

XII. 

Far  above  I  saw  a  King,  whose  glory  crown 'd  him 

like  the  sun, 
While,  more  fair  than  stars,  his  people  circled  round 

the  royal  one. 
Where  they  moved,  as  he  directed,  came  no  hint  of 

hindrancy. 

Every  pathway  opening  outward  led  along  unend 
ingly. 
There  anon,  full  plenty  waited,  wells  of  joy  that 

might  be  quaff'd, 
While   their   depths   with    scarce   a   ripple,   clos'd 

above  each  long  deep  draft. 
And  the  people  in  the  shadow  far  below  that  realm 

of  light, 


WA  TCHING.  295 

Crush'd  by  burdens,  lying  prostrate, — this  was  what 

had  lured  their  sight  ; 
This  was  what,  from  every  lip,  had  roused  the  cry 

for  "  Liberty," 
Right  in  deeming  its  possession  would  fulfil  their 

destiny. 

XIII. 

Grand   it  is,  to   know  that   mortals,  though  their 

deeds  appear  their  own, 
When  aroused  in  noblest  effort  never  need  to  toil 

alone. 
When  athirst  for  good,  we  turn  to  springs  that  in 

the  soul  well  high, 
And    within    their  depths    reflected    see   a  fairer 

earth  and  sky, 
Grand  it  is  to  feel   that   visions  making   all  our 

powers  aspire, 
Mirror  oft  the  truth  above  us  imaged  thus  to  bless 

desire. 
And  if  heaven,  indeed,  have  moved  us,  when  our 

spirit  so  is  awed, 
Infidelity  to  self  is  infidelity  to  God. 

XIV. 

In  the  soul's  profoundest  depth  when  all  without  is 

dim  and  still, 
Oft  a  breath  of  inspiration  lights  a  flame  to  guide 

the  will ; 


296  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  the  men  who  grope  in  darkness,  where  the 

gloom  may  lead  astray, 
By  this  flame  aglow  within  them  read  some  signals 

of  the  way ; 
Nor  pursue  mere  flash  and  shadow  ;  oft  for  those 

who  still  press  on, 
Outward   light   will   dawn   far   brighter  than   the 

soul's  it  shines  upon. 
Then,  when  inward  love  is  kindled  and  the  outward 

doubts  dissolve, 
Safe  within  a  mystic  orbit  doubly  blest  our  souls 

revolve, 
Safe  in  life's  completed  orbit,   where  from   faith 

they  move  to  sight, 

From  the  truth  within  to  truth  that  floods  the  cos 
mos  with  its  light. 
But,  alas,  outside  the  orbit  only  gloom  and  grief 

have  sway. 
Heaven  preserve  us  all  from  straying,  guide  our 

wish  and  guide  our  way, 
Join  for  us  the  lost  connection,  where  all  nature's 

currents  blend 
With  the  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  beginning  and  the 

end. 


xv. 


As  in  one  life  so  in  many  :  all  are  under  one  con 
trol. 


WA  TCHING.  297 

All  of  history  but  fulfils  the  law  that  rules  the  sin 
gle  soul. 

Times  there  were,  near  earth's  beginning,  when 
impell'd  but  from  within, 

Men  but  felt  the  good  of  goodness  and  the  sinful- 
ness  of  sin. 

Then  they  learn'd  of  outward  right,  but  still,  too 
dull  to  probe  its  cause, 

Wasted  reverence  on  commandments  and  the  holy 
text  of  laws  ; 

Now  the  times,  at  last,  are  coming,  when  the  soul 
in  clearer  light 

Must  amid  unfolding  learning  serve  the  wisdom  of 
the  right. 

God  is  Lord  through  independence.  By  and  by  we 
all  shall  see 

How  the  truth  that  rules  above  can  rule  below,  yet 
leave  us  free, 

See  through  all  earth's  changing  phases  whence  we 
come  and  where  we  wend, — 

See  the  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  beginning  and  the 
end. 

XVI. 

Never  yet  an  age  progress'd,  but  something  wrought 

there  stronger  still 
In  the  power  that  swept  it  onward  than  was  in  a 

human  will. 


298  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Never  yet  a  deep  desire  for  light  aroused  a  slum 
bering  race, 

But  above  the  heaven  was  open'd,  and  the  night  to 
day  gave  place. 

Thanks  to  God  for  nobler  spirits  whom  the  morn 
ing  breezes  wake, 

When  they  bear  the  tidings  forward,  that  the  dawn 
begins  to  break  ; 

When  they  pierce  the  gloom  of  forests,  and  across 
the  deserts  roam, 

Heralding  the  truth,  enlightening  every  darkened 
human  home. 

But  alas  for  thought  and  effort, — what  are  all  their 
wisest  words  ? 

What  their  proof  to  superstition  ?  what  their  elo 
quence  to  herds  ? — 

Oft  for  them  amid  the  shadows  lifting  slowly  one 
by  one, 

Doubt  on  empty  nest  sits  brooding  o'er  the  things 
that  have  been  done. 

XVII. 

But  the  power  that  moves  within  them,  moves  with 
out  them  too,  and  soon 

All  the  world  shall  wake  and  watch  the  sun  that 
journeys  toward  the  noon. 

Soon  shall  winds  that  leave  the  sky  arouse  the 
waves  of  every  strand, 


WA  TCHING.  299 

And  the  sails  of  friendly  commerce  hail  the  ports 

of  every  land. 
Soon  shall  throb  the  tramp  of  labor,  and  the  whir 

of  work  be  wheel'd 
Where  a  host  of  emigration  camp  on  every  vacant 

field; 
Where  shall  wise  men  aid  the  unwise  ;  and  as  hand 

to  hand  they  toil, 
Train,  anon,  the  fruits  of  culture  in  their  souls  as 

in  the  soil. 
More  and   more   the   host   advances,    though  but 

lower  gains  it  sought, 
Bridging  vales  and  felling  forests  for  the  paths  of 

love  and  thought, 
Making  earth  a  human  frame,  with  ribs  of  steel  and 

nerves  of  wire, 
Destin'd  soon  to  thrill  responsive  at  the  touch  of 

one  desire. 
Learning,   duty,   love,    are   coming.     Toil   ye   on, 

aspiring  souls, 
On  to  where  unroll  before  you,  grander  methods, 

grander  goals. 
Comes  a  day  in  which  the  sun  shall  burn  the  mists 

upon  the  hills, 
Flame  against  the  frozen  summits,  flash  adown  from 

melting  rills, 
Thaw  the  whited  wastes  to  verdure,  flood  the  plains 

and  quicken  dearth, 


300  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Rout  the  clouds  and  all  between  the  man  and  heav 
en  that  gave  him  birth. 

XVIII. 

Now  shall  all  men  trust  in  manhood,  knowing  all 

must  read  the  right 
By  the  aid  of  that  same  spirit  giving  every  soul  its 

light, 
Knowing  earth  was  Eden  till  the  pair  that  lived 

there  tried  to  make 
Gods  of  men,  but  only  dwarf 'd  their  heirs  that  curse 

at  their  mistake. 
Now  shall  no  man  lord  another.     God  will  have 

His  own  sweet  way, 
His  own   Eden,  where  all  souls  may  work  their 

work  and  say  their  say. 
Now   shall  those  of  all  opinions  all  each  other's 

truth  descry, 
While  philosophy  supported  by  what  all  who  think 

supply,— 
Pillars  this,  and  pillars  that  side,  grounded  well, 

and  high  and  wide, — 
Shall  a  grander  temple  rear  than  all  man's  art  could 

e'er  provide, 
Where  the  saint  and  sage  together  at  the  shrine  of 

faith  shall  bend, 
And  the  love  that  lights  their  life  to  all  the  ends  of 

earth  extend. 


WA  TCHING.  301 

XIX. 

Ay,  when  men  desire  the  whole  truth,  each  one's 

nature  like  a  chart 
Shall  unfold  to  show  what  only  all  together  can 

impart. 
Till  that  time,  though  those  about  us  vie  to  be  the 

foes  of  truth, 
Let  it  be  its  own  defender  ;  they  will  learn  in  time, 

forsooth, 
How  much  more  may  spring  to  light,  where  only 

wondering  fancies  teem, 

Than  where  listlessness  in  stupor  slumbers  on  with 
out  a  dream  ; 
How  much  more  may  be  discerned,  where  love  too 

lightly  waves  distrust, 
Than  where  mad  intolerance  gags  a  pleading  doubt 

with  naught  discuss'd. 
They  will  learn  that  wise  men  find  that  minds  when 

trusted  most,  confess 
Where  are  hid  the  springs  of   thought  which  he 

who  moves  them  needs  to  press, 
Learn  that  those  who  war  with  words  must  heed, 

ere  crown'd  with  victory, 
Both  the  right  array'd  against  them,  and  the  wrong ; 

for  charity, 

First  in  logic  as  in  worship,  leads  the  mind's  tri 
umphant  train. 
'T  is  the  Christ,  not  Aristotle,  holds  the  sceptre  of 

the  brain. 


302  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XX. 

Now  I  see  the  day  before  me,  when  the  pageantries 

of  lies 
Which  have  check'd  the  march  of  progress,  melt 

as  clouds  in  summer  skies. 
Come,  divines,  and  seek  the  limits  of  a  sect  whose 

name  ye  call — 
Feel   for  flying   shades   of    darkness.      Love    has 

levell'd  every  wall. 
Free  in  form  but  bound  in  feeling,  slight  in  talk  but 

strong  in  deed, 
What  the  Lord  has  left  to  manhood,  man  has  left 

outside  his  creed. 
Statesmen,  come  and  seek  the  boundaries  of  the 

land  your  people  fear'd  ; 
Phantom-like  the  foes  conjured  there  in  the  night, 

have  disappear'd  ; 
Wealth,  and  rank,  and  honor,  come,  and  seek  the 

poor,  the  low,  the  base, — 
Where  are  they  ? — in  all  about  you  now  the  child 

of  God  ye  face. 

More  and  more  give  way  the  barriers  :  one  in  feel 
ing,  one  in  thought, 
What   remains  to  hinder  aught  that   all    aspiring 

souls  have  sought  ? 
What  are  plains  and  mounts  and  oceans,  what  are 

tongues  to  unity  ? 
Commerce,  customs,  institutions,  have  not  all  one 

destiny  ? — 


WA  TCHING.  303 

When  the  time  shall  come,  a  banner  by  the  right 

shall  be  unfurl'd, 
Where  the  patriots  of  the  nation  shall  be  patriots  of 

the  world  ; 
And  the  right  shall  triumph  then  in  spite  of  selfish 

men  and  strong, 
Gog  and  Magog  or  the  devil, — or  conservers  of  the 

wrong. 

XXI. 

When  the  time  shall  come,  how  blest  the  eyes  that 

spy  it  come  shall  be  ! 
Just   as  blest  are  souls   that,  till   then,  war  with 

all  the  wrong  they  see, — 
Souls  that  find  their  calmest  living  must  be  one 

long  struggle  here 
With  the  moulds  that  strain  and   shatter  all   that 

nature's  child  holds  dear. 
It  will  need  no  simple  proof  to  show  that  justice 

due  to  each 
Never  can  be  gain'd,  till  each  is  free  to  claim  his 

due  in  speech  ; 
Or  that  kings  behind  their  armies  cannot  guard  the 

rights  of  man 
Better  than  the  battling  masses  butcher'd  for  them 

in  the  van. 
It  will  need  no  nerveless  effort  to  reverse  that  cruel 

mill, 


304  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Where  the  wheels  that   run   the   ruling   grind  to 

dust  the  people's  will. 

Long  will  those  controlling  nations  fear,  if  learn 
ing  be  dispers'd, 
Men  who  serve  them  like  the  brutes  will  learn  to 

know  themselves  accurst. 
Long  will  those  controlling  labor,  loving  money 

more  than  man, 
Crush  as  grapes  are    crush'd  for  vintage  all  the 

powers  of  all  they  can. 
Long  will  sects  of  darker  ages,  darker  made  by 

man's  control, 
Clog  the  growth  of  aim  and  action,  save  the  form 

and  lose  the  soul. 
Where,  O  where  shall  trust  in  truth  that  speaks 

through  manhood  great  and  small, 
Overcome  the  few's  oppression  by  intrusting  power 

to  all  ? 

XXII. 

Lo,  there  dawn'd  a  light  about  me  and  a  vision  in 

my  sleep 
Rose  above  the  midnight  vapors,  and  it  floated  o'er 

the  deep  : 
In  a  shell  like   alabaster,   by  an  unseen   impulse 

drawn, 
There  I  saw  three  forms  who  journey'd  softly  as 

the  light  of  dawn. 


WA  TCHING.  305 

Beautiful,  the  central  figure  stood  with  eyes  upon 

the  sky, 
As  if  fill'd  with  faith  that  surely  heaven  would  all 

her  need  supply. 
Just  above  her  unbound  ringlets  gleam'd  as  't  were 

the  morning  star  ; 
And  within  her  shining  breastplate  mirror'd  lands 

appear'd  afar. 
At  her  right  hand,  underneath  her,  crouch'd  the 

aged  limbs  of  War  ; 
Yet  he  fiercely  clutch'd  his  bow  as  when  in  youth 

't  was  battled  for, 
Though  his  eyes  were  glaring  backward,  andseem'd 

anger'd  but  to  find 
That  the  storms  they  sought  had  linger'd  on  the 

shore  they  left  behind. 

At  her  right  hand,  peering  forward,  knelt  the  white- 
robed  form  of  Peace, 
As  a  prince  might  kneel  for  crowning,  or  a  serf  for 

his  release  ; 
While  against  his  brow  his  palm  bent,  shielding 

from  the  light  the  glance 
Of  an  eye  whose  pleas  for  patience  were  but  prayers 

for  swift  advance. 
Thus  I  saw  the  forms,  when,  lo !  more  forms  before 

them  suddenly 
Sprang  from  sky  and  sea  like  hopes  along  a  path 

of  prophecy. 


306  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

'T  was  as  if  a  grander  people,  wash'd  of  prejudice 

and  pride, 
Passed   a  newer,   broader    Jordan,    rose    upon    a 

grander  side. 
'T  was  as  if  all  earth  had  caught  a  glory  flash'd  on 

mount  and  isle  ; 
'T  was  as  if    the  heaven  had   open'd,  where   all 

nations  throng'd  the  while, 
And  a  fresh  wind  rose   that   whisper'd  :  "Where 

shall  man  to  man  be  true  ? — 
In  the  old  world  old  ways  triumph  ;  Freedom  hies 

to  seek  the  new." 

XXIII. 

"  To  the   new."      I  caught   the   accents    floating 

sweetly  o'er  the  deep  ; 
And  they  thrill'd  my  dreaming  spirit,  so  they  woke 

me  from  my  sleep. 
Then  I  found  me  old  and  feeble,  faint,  with  so 

much  work  to  do  ; — 
"  Ah,"  I  moan'd,  "  all  things  that  falter — what  can 

thrive  but  in  the  new  ?  " 

XXIV. 

Ye,  as  well,  with  new  hearts  beating  in  the  ranks  of 

human  life  ; 
Ye    whose  youth  itself  assures  us  good  will  still 

maintain  the  strife  ; 


WA  TCHING.  307 

Ye    whose  tread   is  recreation,  and  whose  every 

breath  a  joy, 
Not  exhausted  yet  in  paths  that  earthly  smoke  and 

dust  annoy  ; 
Ye  whose  cheeks  to  flame-hue  kindle,  fired  by  all 

the  faith  ye  feel, 
Not  yet  frosted   by  the  winters  that  have  chill'd 

men's  older  zeal ; 
Ye  whose  eyes  are  skies  to  spirits,  whirl'd  as  worlds 

from  change  to  change, 
Not  yet  check'd  by  disappointment,  so  ye  dare  not 

test  the  strange  ; 

Ye  whose  wills  ne'er  cringed  in  failure  nor  surren 
dered  flags  of  hope, 
But  can  look  for  victory  still  in  highest  spheres,  of 

broadest  scope  ; 
Do  ye  know  how  old  age  rallies  when  it  hears 

your  bounding  tread  ? 
How,  in  youth's  endearing  presence,  all  things  else 

beloved  have  fled  ? 
Angels  even  see  I  bending  through  this  thick  and 

troubled  air, — 
But  for  you,  so  fresh  from  God,  might  earth  and 

heaven  too  both  despair. 

xxv. 

Thanks  to  God,  life  moves  on  with  you.     Hope, 
that  no  defeat  will  see, 


308  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Rushes  past  the  line  that  falters,  rousing  thoughts 

of  what  shall  be. 
So  is  hope  triumphant  ever.     Life  has  had  its  fill  of 

pain  ; 
But  the  shade  of  melancholy  clasped  me  to  her 

breast  in  vain  ; 
Phantom-film  of  mortal  making,  what  could  she  to 

hide  the  light  ?— 
Scarcely  had  I  dared  oppose  her,  ere  her  form  had 

fled  from  sight. 
Never  while  these  years  are  waiting  for  a  nobler 

worth  in  man, 
While  the  strife  for  life  continues,  does  the  dark 

hide  all  the  van. 
Howe'er  thickly  clouds  may  gather,  howe'er  fierce 

the  storm  may  be, 
Even  down  the  thunder's  pathway  trembles  light 

by  which  to  see. 
Let  the  thunder  do  its  direst  ;  let  the  lightning 

strike  men  dead; 
Still  could  hope  look  past  the  present,  nor  believe 

all  light  had  fled. 

XXVI. 

Watch  the  wise  of  all  the  ages  ;  there  they  linger 

peacefully, 
Peering    off    from   earthly  sorrow   o'er  a   sea   of 

mystery. 


WA  TCHJNG.  309 

All  embark  alone  upon  it,  where  there  falls  a  fog- 
wrought  screen, 

Parting  each  from  every  neighbor,  shrouding  every 
dearest  mien, 

But  in  all  the  faith  is  bright  that  o'er  the  sea  in 
regions  blest, 

Gardens  wait  of  endless  plenty,  where  an  endless 
wish  may  rest. 


XXVII. 

O  they  know,  when  aspiration  sweeps  them  onward 

through  the  sky, 
That  the  outward  life  could  never  give  the  inward 

life  the  lie  ; 
Know  no  heaven  would  draw  them  on  or  give  them 

power  to  heed  its  call, 
If  indeed  the  love  and  duty  due  to  earth  were  all 

in  all  ; 
Know  no  soul  could  ever  tremble,  touch'd  as  by  an 

organ's  key, 
If  the  spirit's  life  that  touch'd  it  were  a  life  that 

could  not  be ; 
Know  no  soul  could  dream  a  dream  set  free  from 

all  that  flesh  can  bind, 
If  within  were  naught  to  vibrate,  like  to  like  and 

kind  to  kind. 


JIO  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

XXVII. 

Once  I  saw  a  pilgrim,  treading  o'er  a  thorny  desert 
wide  ; 

And  I  saw  his  face  grow  brighter,  as  he  dash'd 
his  tears  aside. 

On  and  on,  though  stumbling  often,  with  a  gaze  in 
tent  he  sped, 

While  behind  his  path  grew  plainer  from  the  blood 
his  wounds  had  shed. 

Then  he  fell,  and  sweetly  fainting  said  he  now  no 
more  would  roam  ; 

And  with  smiles  had  left  his  body,  sure  the  soul 
would  journey  home. 

Ah,  I  felt  a  joy  so  cloudless  must  forebode  a  com 
ing  day, 

At  whose  break  like  morning  vapors  all  the  shades 
of  life  give  way. 

Surely,  surely,  truth  and  justice  rule  the  worlds  ; 
and  cares  and  pains 

Which  the  martyr  meekly  suffers  are  not  all  that 
duty  gains. 

Grand  desires  are  not  delusions,  though  one  die  be 
fore  his  day  ; 

And  the  soul  that  plann'd  for  manhood  fall  a  child 
amid  his  play. 

Trembling  through  the  dying  whispers  of  the  men 
who  live  for  right 

Comes  a  call  to  nobler  living  than  the  sleep  of  end 
less  night. 


WATCHING.  311 

XXIX. 

Yes,  I  know  full  well  of  many,  fill'd  with  doubts 

that  cannot  pray, 
Who  would  every  aspiration  check  and  silence  with 

a  nay. 
"  Gaze,"  they  say,  "  on  scenes  about  you  ;  earth  is 

green,  and  skies  are  blue  ; 
In  life's  morning,  ere  you  knew  it,  calmly  rose  the 

sun  to  view ; 
Why  should  not  the  dusk  of  evening  just  as  gently 

steal  the  day  ? 
Come,  while  noon  is  bright  around  us,  let  us  dance 

adown  the  way  ; 
Hunt  the  fruit  in  arbors  blushing  ;  and  be  sure, 

when  sinks  the  eve, 
That  our  patient  mother  Nature  will   our   weary 

limbs  receive, 
Nor  less  gently  than  she  roused  us  on  the  dreamy 

morn  of  life 

Soothe  our  weary  powers  to  slumber,  dead  to  con 
sciousness  or  strife." 

XXX. 

Yet  can  thus  our  hope  be  stifled  ? — Where  were  we 

that  misty  morn  ? 
How  much  thought  controlled  our  spirits  on  the 

day  when  we  were  born  ? 


312  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

If  we  own'd  a  mind  at  all  then,  how  it  slumbered,  at 

the  best ! 
But,  to-day,  it  cannot  slumber,  though  the  body 

long  for  rest. 
Down  amid  those  grand  reformers,  mark  that  elder 

leader  swoon, — 
But  the  soul  in  him  is  mightier  than  when  life  was 

at  its  noon. 
Just  before  his  lifeless  falling,  lo,  his  words  that 

rouse  the  brave 
Make  the  troubled  nations  tremble.    Sinks  the  soul 

within  the  grave  ? 

XXXI. 

Is  the  soul  indeed  but  matter,  welded,  moulded, 

multiple, 
White  in  snow  and  green  in  sunshine,  by  the  storms 

dissolvable  ? 
Or  is  it  a  lingering  breath  that,  snared  to  work 

these  lobes  of  clay, 
Soon,  like  air  that  shapes  the  wind-cloud,  passes 

through  it  and  away  ? — 
Who  can  know,  or  who  will  tell  us  ? — All  in  vain 

we  ask  the  sage. 
Shall  we  ask  the  seer  ? — Alas,  the  seers  have  fled 

our  later  age. 

XXXII. 

O  could  we  in  our  misgivings  only  see  and  hear 
once  more 


WATCHING.  313 

What  our  fathers  thought  so  bless'd  them,  when  the 

heavens  unclosed  of  yore  ; 
Ere  men's  eyes  intent  on  matter,  minding  not  what 

o'er  them  towers, 
Lost  their  spirit-sight,  if  not  their  right  to  know 

and  use  its  powers  ; 
Ere  men's  wits  were  ground  to  tools  more  sharp 

than  blades,  but  narrow  too, 
Plied  at  earth  our  day  makes  brighter  but  to  hide 

the  stars  from  view  ! 

Is  it  wise, — belief  so  bounded  as  to  let  three  hun 
dred  years 
Of  the  faith  of  half  of  Europe  give  the  lie  to  all 

the  seers  ? 
Is  it  wise, — the  mean  ideal,  whether  form'd  of  man 

or  God, 
Deeming  truth  in  all  religions  born  and  bred  in 

conscious  fraud  ? 
Is  it  wise, — the  church,  assuming  mortals  once  could 

hear  and  see 
Sounds  and  shapes  from  realms  immortal,  but  that 

now  this  cannot  be  ? 
Is  it  wise, — the  coward  science,  which,  when  faith 

its  aid  requests, 
Frighten'd  still  by  Salem's  witches,  does  not  dare 

apply  its  tests  ? 
Witchcraft  probed,  might  burst  the  bubble  of  the 

world's  religious  frauds, — 


314  A  LIFE  IN-  SONG. 

Showing  seers  themselves  deceived,  who  deem  all 
power  beyond  them  God's  ; 

And,  with  seers,  the  seers'  disciples,  who,  with  pride 
of  mind  and  will, 

Fix  belief,  prohibit  thought,  and  bid  the  truth,  for 
sooth,  stand  still. 

Powers  beyond  us  may  be  finite  ;  nor  can  ever  tell 
or  do 

Aught  that  frees  the  mind  that  heeds  them  from  its 
need  of  reason  too. 

XXXIII. 

Yet,  though  never  mortal  vision  saw  the  spirits' 

torches  flame, 
Or  the  white  of  robes  etherial,  rustling  never  when 

they  came  ; 
Never  prest  the  hand  so  sacred  from  the  sacred 

work  it  plies  ; 
Never  watch'd  the  light   of  heaven  within  those 

peaceful  soul-lit  eyes  ; 
Never  heard  that  distant  music,  which  can  hush  the 

seraph's  wings 
With  the  pathos  all  unconscious,  which  from  earth 

each  memory  brings  ; 
Though  no  saintly  guest  ere  blest  us  down  amid 

these  vales  below  ; 
Or  unveil'd  for  us  that  beauty  which  no  eyes  of 

earth  can  know  -• 


W 'A  TCHING.  3 1 5 

Still  our  souls  would  dream  about  it,  still  would 

feel  its  endless  charm, 
Drawing  all  the  good  within  us  toward  a  life  no  ill 

can  harm. 

XXXIV. 

Thither  thus  may  all  be  drawn,  and  find,  at  last, 

that  perfect  Love, 
Power,  Truth,  Wisdom,  Justice,  Beauty,  throned 

eternally  above ; 
Find  the  Mind  that  moves  creation,  Maker,  Father, 

Saviour,  Lord. 
Source  and  Sum  and  Destination,  Life  with  which 

all  lives  accord  ; 
Life  of  worlds  that,  whirl'd  like  sparks  from  shrines 

amid  infinity, 
Spin  through  space  till  kindling  glories  light  all 

nights  of  mystery; 
Life  of  seasons  changing  ever  to  reflect  unchanging 

power, 
Whether   flash' d   from   snowy   summits   or  aglow 

above  the  flower  ; 
Life  of  man,  whose  upright  purpose,  high  aspiring 

from  the  dust, 
Looks  above  to  find  his  aim,  his  inspiration  and  his 

trust ; 
Life  of  his  life's  under  current,  bearing  all  men  do 

or  are, 


316  A  LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Silent,  swift,  and  broad  and  blessed,  toward  the  rest 

that  waits  afar. 
Thanks  to   God   and   adoration,   that   our  minds 

whose  freedom  hied 
In  the  first  vague  dread  of  duty  from  the  sway 

they  had  not  tried, 
Ne'er  can  be,  where'er  they  wander,  free  from  that 

divine  control 
Which  attains  its  grandest  glory  in  the  good  of 

every  soul ; 
Nor  can  find  where  life  is  darkest  aught  that  wholly 

hides  from  sight 
Love  amid  the   springs   of  being  imaged   in   the 

depths  of  right. 
Thanks  to  God  for  inward  light,  the  word,  the  truth, 

the  life  to  prize, 
And  the  golden  fruit  of  ages,  hanging  ripe  before 

our  eyes  ; 
And  O  grant,  all  ruling  Spirit — and  how  blest  are 

spirits  here 
Who  can  feel  Thine  answer  coming  ere  a  word  has 

reach'd  Thine  ear — 
From  the  minds  of  those  who  seek  Thee,  and  rely 

upon  Thy  might, 
And  on  every  loving  token  Thou  hast  sent  them 

through  the  night, 
Draw  aside  all  veils  of  darkness,  till  each  watchfi 

eye  may  trace, 


WATCHING.  317 

Clearer,  nearer  to  its  vision,  outlines  of  Thy  destin'd 

grace  ; 
Woo  mankind  to  kindly  feelings,  lessen  lust  that 

love  may  be, 
Cleanse  of  dross  that  every  soul  may  grow  an  image 

bright  of  Thee. 
Even  so,  O  come,  Thou  Savior,  spreading  worth 

from  man  to  man  ; 
Close  the  annals  of  confusion,  draw  the  limits  of 

Thy  plan  ; 
Quickly  come,  O  Holy  Spirit,  sanctify  the  waiting 

world  ; 
Bring  the  last  grand  resurrection  ;  from  the  earth, 

beneath  men  whirl'd, 
Lift  aspiring  lives  where  from  them  all  their  sin  and 

sorrow  fall, 
There  to  dwell  in  endless  union  with  Thy  Love,  the 

All  in  All. 

XXXV. 

And  for  him  whose  watch  yet  lengthens,  whatsoe'er 

reports  be  brought, 
May  he  learn  to  wait  and  doubt  not  that  the  good 

will  yet  be  wrought  ; 
Thankful  for  all  forms  of  living,  dreams  or  deeds, 

whate'er  they  be, 
Which  confirm  a  hope  within  him  that  his  life  may 

honor  Thee. 


318  A  LIFE  IN  SONG, 

Pardon  him  for  ways  unworthy,  and  for  words  that 

are  not  wise, 
And  outweigh  by  contradiction  all  Thou  canst  not 

authorize. 
Guide  him  on,  whate'er  his  fortune,  that  he  may 

not  cease  to  do  ; 
And  may  trust  in  all  his  doing  Thee  alone  to  work 

the  true. 
Bide  with  him  when  dangers  deepen,  shield  him 

from  the  tempter's  test, 
Looking  not  to  earth  beneath  him  but  above  for  all 

his  rest, 

Dreaming,  daring,  doubting,  seeking,  loving,  serv 
ing,  watching,  then, 
When  shall  come  the  great  deliverance,  may  he  join 

the  long  Amen. 


INALE. 


The  reader  ceased  his  reading,  and 
the  throng 

Sat   silent,   till,   at   last,  without  a 

word, 

The  reader  took  the  poems,  folded  them, 
And  placed  them  where  they  might  be  safely  borne, 
And  rose  to  leave.     Then  all  the  people  rose, 
And  press'd  his  hands,  and  tears  were  in  their  eyes, 
And  trembling  were  their  tones  that  bade  farewell ; 
Then  he  had  mounted  on  his  waiting  steed ; 
And  on  the  hills  again  the  bars  and  stars 
And  buttons  on  his  uniform  of  blue 
Had  flashed  in  sunlight,  and  he  disappear'd. 
Nor  did  he  e'er  return  ;  for  old  was  he, 
And  bound  to  many  cares. 

But  after  months 

There  came  a  volume  ;  and  within  it,  lo, 
As  by-gone  glories  of  the  summer's  life 
Rest  focus'd  and  imprinted  in  warm  hues 
319 


320  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

Of  autumn  leaves,  so  in  this  volume's  leaves 
Lay  all  the  glory  of  the  poet's  life, 
His  imprint  of  the  soul.     Nor  was  it  long, 
Ere  other  volumes  like  this  volume  came  ; 
And  all  were  treasured  with  the  choicest  things 
In  all  these  village  homes.     The  villagers 
Had  known  the  poet, — ay,  and  they  had  known 
How  through  his  poems  he  had  always  tried 
To  breathe  the  living  spirit  of  the  truth, 
Conceiving  that  in  all  tales  true  to  life, 
Men  read  a  lesson  less  from  man  than  God. 

So  down  to  this  day  oft,  in  moments  when 

The  stress  of  work  is  waived,  perchance  in  hours 

Of  sickness  or  of  sorrow,  or  when  storms 

Have  block'd  the  roadways  of  accustom'd  craft, 

Or  evening  shadows  hid  the  daily  task, 

And  brought  the  cattle  home,  and  shut  the  school 

And  shop  and  factory  ;  when  carts  and  plows 

Are  in  their  places,  and  the  horses  fed, 

And  stable-doors  made  fast,  and  dogs  at  watch  ; 

When  in  the  house  the  evening  meal  has  pass'd, 

The  lamps  been  lighted,  and  the  little  folk 

Been  put  to  bed  with  that  last  prayer  and  kiss 

Which  hallows  all  their  dreamland  ;  when  the  wife 

Takes  up  her  sewing,  and  the  maid  draws  forth 

Her  embroidery  work,  well  folded  to  conceal 

Her  future  gift  from  him  for  whom  't  is  wrought,— 


FINALE.  321 

Then  often  comes  at  last  the  poet's  hour. 

For  then  the  book  is  open'd,  leaf  on  leaf 

Unfolding  there  like  petals  of  a  rose, 

A  southern  rose  far  sent  to  northern  vales 

Not  freed  from  fingers  yet  of  frozen  streams, — 

A  rose  that  with  its  odor  brings  a  thought 

Of  bright  blue   skies,  and   trees   deep-draped  in 

green, 

And  air  so  thick  with  fragrant  warmth  that  all 
Its  thrilling  tissues  quiver  visibly 
O'er  flowers  reflecting  back  the  choicest  rays 
That  sunlight  showers  upon  them  from  above. — 
Ah,  like  these  thoughts  more  fragrant  than  itself, 
Through  which  this  rose  recalls  another  world 
Of  beauty  and  delight  beyond  the  haze 
Of  blue  horizons  walling  our  world  in, 
Come  sweet  suggestions  opening  with  the  leaves 
That  fill  the  poet's  volume,  widening  all 
The  spirit's  range  of  sight  and  sympathy, 
And  making  e'en  the  humblest  life  appear 
To  be,  indeed,  the  noble  thing  it  is, 
The  while  these  village-people  trace  again 
The  course  of  one  born  humble  as  themselves, 
Who  yet  attained  the  end  of  highest  aims 
As  grand  as  any  land  or  age  e'er  sought, 
Because  his  plans  when  struggling  toward  the  light 
Emerged  where  freemen  leave  to  God  and  heaven 
The  right  to  rule  the  spirit  though  on  earth. 


322  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

At  times  in  silence  is  the  volume  read  ; 

At  times  aloud,  by  one  who  while  he  reads, 

With  cheeks  aglow  beside  the  brightest  lamp, 

Charms  every  listener,  e'en  the  sage  whose  head 

Will  nod  and  dream,  and  then  awake  again  ; 

Nor  find  within  the  volume  less  to  praise 

Because  it  chiefly  spell-bound  holds  the  young. 

In  them  the  friction  of  the  flying  rhymes 

Oft  fires  imagination  to  a  glow, 

Through  which  the  spirit  gazes  on  a  world 

That  bright  aureolas  of  circling  thoughts 

Robe  in  celestial  beauty  not  its  own, — 

A  world  that  makes  men  wistful,  and  inspires 

A  purpose  in  their  souls  to  image  forth 

In  their  real  life  a  life  that  is  ideal. 

With  every  Spring-time  to  that  region  comes 
A  day  when  all  the  people,  far  and  near, 
Recall  the  warfare  waged  in  former  years 
That  from  disruption  saved  their  native  land, 
Set  free  the  bondman,  and  made  liberty, 
Throughout  their  country's  length   and  breadth, 

supreme. 

And  ere  that  day  comes,  through  the  week  before, 
The  wives  whose  husbands  fell  in  that  sad  war, 
The  friends  and  sweethearts  brooding  o'er  a  loss 
That  oft  is  deepest  when  't  is  least  express'd, 
The  mothers  mourning  sons,  and  boys  and  girls, 


FINALE.  323 

Who  think  of  their  dead  fathers  as  of  forms 

That  fill'd  the  twilight  of  their  childhood's  dreams, 

Are  forming  wreaths  of  all  the  greenest  leaves, — 

Of  myrtle,  ivy,  arbor-vitae,  join'd 

With  all  the  fairest  flowers  -he  season  yields. 

The  garden's  tulip,  pansy,  peony, 

Magnolia,  honeysuckle,  bleeding-heart, 

Phlox,  lilac,  snowball,  and  wisteria, 

The  forest's  bursting  glories,  chief  and  first 

The  dogwood,  rill'd  like  mimic  drifts  of  snow, 

The  blue-flag,  waving  welcomes  from  the  marsh, 

The  lily  of  the  pond  and  of  the  vale, 

The  daisy,  violet,  and  buttercup, 

The  elder-berry  and  the  bridle  wreath, 

From  garden,  grove  or  roadside — all  are  cull'd 

And  weaved  in  wreaths  to  deck  the  soldiers'  graves. 

At  noon  the  church-bell  rings,  the  organ  peals, 

The  hymns  and  prayers  ascend,  the  orator 

Recalls  once  more  the  virtues  of  the  past, 

The  privilege  of  the  present ;  then  the  throng 

Move  slowly  toward  the  place  where  sleep  the  dead, 

And,  bending  o'er  the  graves  of  loved  ones  lost, 

And  o'er  the  graves  of  strangers  who  no  more 

Have  friends  they  loved  on  earth  to  care  for  them, 

Kind  forms  lay  one  by  one  their  tributes  down. 

No  soldier's  tomb  is  pass'd  and  not  enwreath'd 

With  flowers  that  rest  there  like  embodiments 

Of  fragrant  hopes  and  beautiful  desires, 


324  A   LIFE  IN  SONG. 

And  make  the  grave  no  type  of  death's  dark  night, 
But  of  the  rosy  dawn  of  life  beyond. 

And  somehow  with  the  service  of  that  day 

Has  grown  a  custom  kept  from  year  to  year, 

That  all,  before  they  part,  shall  gather  round 

The  modest  grave  where,  when  the  old  were  young, 

A  few  with  pitying  faces  laid  to  rest 

Our  poet,  dying  as  a  stranger  dies, 

And  buried  like  a  man  to  be  forgot. 

About  his  grave  some  words  he  wrote  are  read, 

As  if  betokening  his  own  presence  there, 

And  their  communion  with  him  ere  they  go. 

And  then,  as  homeward  all  the  long  line  moves, 

One  wandering  through  that  silent  place  will  find 

That  not  on  grave  of  father,  husband,  son, 

Or  any  kinsman,  have  the  people  shower'd 

The  most  abounding  tokens  of  their  love. 

More  to  them  all  than  any  one  of  these 

Is  he  whose  words,  confined  not  by  the  grave, 

Still  cheer  their  thoughts,  and  guide  them  in  their 

deeds, 

And,  oft  repeated  to  each  other,  keep 
As  bright  his  memory  as  do  stars  by  night 
The  light  of  suns  that  long  have  sunk  to  rest. 

So  lives  the  poet,  though  men  see  him  not. 
The  seven  poems,  fitly  phrased  of  old, 


FINALE.  325 

To  sound  forth  life's  full  gamut,  and  recall 

His  rise  from  youth  through  manhood,  stage  by 

stage, 

Cease  not  their  music,  but  are  ringing  still. 
His  voice  has  join'd  that  choir  invisible 
Of  seers  and  singers  who  have  pass'd  away, 
Which  oft,  in  moments  when  earth's  din  is  hush'd, 
Sends  back  o'er  infinite  depths  a  spirit's  call, 
Whose  inspiration  subtly  wakes  to  life 
Whatever  welling  from  the  soul  may  swell 
The  stream  of  truth  that  flows  from  each  for  all 
Toward  that  far  distant  light  where  heavenly  hues 
Presage  the  dawning  of  the  perfect  day. 

END. 


PRESS   NOTICES   OF   FORMER   POETRY. 


A  New  and  Revised  Edition  of  the  Earlier  Poems  of  the 
author  of  "  A  Life  in  Song  "  is  in  preparation.  The  following 
are  some  of  the  notices  of  the  press  which  greeted  their  first 
appearance : 

"  New  poetry  worth  welcoming.  ...  in  blank  verse,  rhythmical 
in  its  flow  and  deliciously  choice  in  language.  .  .  .  a  love  story 

.  .  .  told  with  a  degree  of  spirit  indicating  a  deep  acquaintance  with 
human  nature,  while  there  is  throughout  a  tone  that  speaks  plainly  of  a 
high  realization  of  the  divine  purpose  in  life.  ...  a  tale  that  enlists 
the  sympathies,  while  it  tends  to  elevate  the  mind  and  quicken  the  heart 
to  good  impulses.  Not  the  least  charming  characteristic  of  the  poem  is 
its  richness  in  pen-and-ink  pictures  marked  by  rare  beauty  and  presenting 
rresistibly  that  which  the  poet  saw  in  his  mind's  eye.  .  .  .  We  confi 
dently  promise  that  any  one  taking  it  up  will  enjoy  the  reading  through 
out,  that  is,  if  there  is  any  poetry  in  him." — Boston  Evening' Journal. 

"  It  may  well  find  readers  in  abundance,  both  for  the  sake  of  the  story, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  many  fine  passages  which  it  contains.  .  .  .  This 
work  has  one  point  of  very  high  excellence,  and  it  is  this  which  makes  it 
eminently  a  poem  rather  than  merely  a  pretty  story  in  verse  .  .  .  we 
have  in  this  one  thing — the  conception  of  the  character  of  Edith — the 
work  of  a  genuine  poet,  we  may  say  of  a  genuinely  dramatic  poet.  .  .  . 
In  Edith  we  have  a  thoroughly  masculine  intellect  in  a  thoroughly  fem 
inine  soul,  not  merely  by  the  author's  assertion  but  by  actual  exhibition. 
Every  word  that  Edith  speaks,  every  act  that  she  does,  is  in  accord  with 
this  conception.  .  .  .  It  is  sufficient,  without  doubt,  to  give  life  to  a 
less  worthy  performance,  and  it  proves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr.  Raymond 
is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which  is  worthy  of  the  most  careful 
and  conscientious  cultivation." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  Marked  by  a  fertility  and  a  strength  of  imagination  worthy  of  our 
first  poets  .  .  .  gems  of  similes  and  analogies  which  are  not  infre 
quent."—  The  Literary  World. 

3*7 


328  PRESS  NOTICES  OF  FORMER  POETRY. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  surprise  to  take  up  a  new  volume  of  poetry  from  the 
hand  of  one  who  has  not  attained  a  recognized  place  in  the  poetic  world, 
and  find  that  it  contains  something  more  than  mere  platitudes  and 
worn-out  similes.  .  .  .  It  is  evident  that  Mr.  Raymond  works  with 
a  purpose.  That  purpose  is  to  give  to  the  world  his  best  of  thought, 
clothed  in  a  noble  and  attractive  diction.  His  is  no  mere  utterance  of 
dreams  and  fancies.  His  poetry  takes  hold  on  life  ;  it  enters  the  arena 
where  its  grandest  and  purest  motives  are  discussed,  and  by  the  vigor  and 
beauty  of  its  language  it  holds  itself  on  a  level  with  the  highest  themes. 
Art  and  music,  and  love  and  morals,  and  social  questions,  all  find  their 
place  in  his  verse.  .  .  .  Every  thoughtful  reader  .  .  .  will  wish 
that  the  poems  had  been  longer  or  that  there  had  been  more  of  them  in 
this  number.  The  author  has  learned  the  art  of  stopping  before  your 
appetite  becomes  cloyed.  It  would  be  possible  to  quote  passage  after 
passage  of  rare  beauty." — Utica  Herald. 

"  The  conviction  will  grow  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  of  this  volume 
that  it  is  the  work  of  a  poet  of  no  mean  order." — Illustrated  Christian 
Weekly. 

"  The  two  poems  here  presented  are  ripe  with  deep  and  analytical 
thought.  They  have  vigor,  beauty,  and  an  easy  musical  flow,  which  cap 
tivates  the  ear  and  touches  the  inner  chords  of  the  highest  poetic  feeling. 
The  sentiment  of  the  poems  is  that  of  a  mind  cultivated  and  pure  ;  the 
philosophy  that  of  a  thinker  who  unites  an  elevated  Christian  enthusiasm 
with  the  strength  and  depth  which  pertain  to  the  most  profound  specula 
tion.  ...  In  a  word,  the  poems  are  the  results  of  ripened  thought, 
accomplished  scholarship,  and  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  poetical 
technique." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Representing  a  loftier  and  more  genuine  inspiration  than  most  of  his 
younger  contemporaries." — Boston  Post. 

"  A  volume  of  real  poetry,  the  offspring  of  a  cultured  genius.  .  .  . 
It  is  difficult  to  say  precisely  in  what  his  charm  consists.  On  almost  every 
page  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the  traces  of  a  severe  realism, 
a  sprightly  and  agile  humor,  a  fancy  graceful  in  every  careering,  a  heart 
warm  with  love  and  sympathy  for  the  brotherhood.  .  .  .  We  follow 
him,  and  the  labyrinthine  windings  and  inner  recesses  through  which  he 
leads  us  are  those  of  our  own  hearts.  There  is  no  ostentation  in  his  phi 
lanthropy,  and  neither  latitudinarianism  nor  bigotry  in  his  religion.  His 
descriptions  are  as  varied  as  an  October  landscape,  and  sometimes  as  beau 
tiful.  Graceful  allusions,  historic  incidents,  minute  analyses,  delicate 
touches,  vivid  picturings,  metaphors  bold  and  occasionally  almost  start- 


PRESS  NOTICES  OF  FORMER  POETRY.   329 

ling  in  their  novelty  and  brilliancy,  are  scattered  in  profusion,  but  we  look 
in  vain  for  the  slightest  token  of  a  disposition  wantonly  to  play  with  lan 
guage,  or  to  shock  the  reader  into  attention  by  the  use  of  mongrel  com 
pounds  or  strange  concatenations.  He  is  a  thorough  master  of  English 
verse.  .  .  .  '  Whatever  the  Mission  of  Life  may  be,'  is  strong  in  mas 
culine  thought,  tersely  expressed,  and  is  a  better  presentation  of  the  same 
subject  than  Tennyson's  famous  sonnet  *  To  J.  M.  K.'" — American 
Presbyterian  Review. 

"  The  author  writes  vigorously,  and  manifests  a  thorough  acquaintance 
with  poetical  composition.  His  works  abound  with  many  beautiful 
thoughts  and  conceptions,  which  are  peculiarly  remarkable  for  the  elegant 
and  picturesque  language  in  which  they  are  clothed.  It  is  rarely  that  we 
meet  with  a  writer  who  combines  in  so  natural  and  at  the  same  time  so 
artistic  a  manner  the  graces  of  the  poet  with  the  subtleties  of  the  philoso 
pher.  The  morality  of  his  writings  is  as  unquestionable  as  their  excel 
lence  and  literary  worth  will  make  them  worth  remembering.  "—Jewish 
Messenger. 

"  The  author  of  this  volume  has  .  .  .  proved  himself  the  possessor  of 
the  genuine  gift  of  song.  He  is  thoughtful,  careful,  never  allowing  his 
poetic  fervor  to  cheat  his  judgment  of  its  rights,  nor  suspend  the  exercise 
of  his  critical  and  subtle  intellect,  and  yet  his  verse  has  both  vigor  and 
sweetness,  and  not  a  little  of  his  fine  imagery  will  long  cling  to  the  read 
er's  mind  and  yield  a  true  aesthetic  enjoyment." — Dover  Morning 
Star. 

"  A  poem  of  remarkable  vigor,  instinct  with  genuine  poetic  ideality  and 
imagery,  all  nobleness  and  beauty.  The  verse  is  smooth  and  graceful, 
and  the  fancies  real  articulations  of  the  brightest  thought.  Some  touches 
or  arguments,  and  occasionally  pictures,  remind  the  reader  of  that  won 
derful  *  phantasmagoria,  "  Festus,"  '  yet  gentler,  less  subtle,  humaner, 
more  in  the  spirit  of  mankind." — Rochester  Democrat. 

"...  Fine,  thoughtful,  elevated,  pathetic.  We  can  conscien 
tiously  recommend  it  as  well  worth  reading." — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"  The  artistic  reproduction  of  this  sorrowful  romance,  the  sweet,  tender 
purity  that  hallows  the  sentiment  of  the  young  lovers,  the  subtle  beauty 
of  the  words  that  aptly  match  the  sense,  all  attest  the  instinct  of  the  true 
poet  and  the  skill  of  the  natural  versifier." — Chicago  Post. 

"  Quite  beyond  the  ordinary  verse  of  the  day  in  picturesque  speech, 
harmonious  and  well  balanced  versification,  and  the  limning  of  subtle  ex 
periences  of  life  .  .  .  narrative  and  dramatic  with  passages  of  great 
beauty  and  power." — Boston  Congregationalist  and  Recorder. 


330  PRESS  NOTICES  OF  FORMER  POETRY. 

"  They  possess  the  highest  merit  which  scholarship,  thoughtfulness, 
and  refined  taste  can  give." — Cincinnati  Gazette. 

"  The  vigor  of  expression  and  the  high  purpose  of  these  poems  make 
them  an  agreeable  study.  The  author  certainly  has  great  ability." — N.  Y. 
Observer. 

"  At  once  a  romance  and  a  psychological  and  emotional  study.  The 
hero  struggles  with  his  ideas  and  passions,  until  he  works  himself  into  a 
steadier  light  and  plants  himself  on  a  firmer  ground.  The  processes  and 
stages  of  his  progress  are  delineated  with  marked  insight  and  with  delicacy 
or  strength  as  the  occasion  requires.  Many  striking  thoughts  are  finely 
expressed,  and  choice  descriptive  passages  are  abundant." — National 
Baptist. 

"  Full  of  thought  expressed  in  pleasant  versification.  ...  A  fine 
enthusiam  and  a  high  ideal  of  art  are  manifest  in  the  work." — The  Meth 
odist. 

"  The  romance  is  one  of  peculiar  interest,  the  characters  are  beautifully 
depicted,  and  the  thoughts  and  sentiments  are  pure,  elevated,  and  ex 
pressed  in  language  inspired  by  true  poetic  genius." — Boston  Home 
Journal. 

"  Indicate  the  possession  of  poetic  fire  and  art  in  the  author.  Among 
the  rising  American  poets,  Mr.  Raymond  is  undoubtedly  pushing  his 
way  to  the  first  rank.  .  .  .  We  welcome  this  modest  volume  as 
containing  two  poems  which  are  well  worth  the  reading  by  every  re 
flective  mind." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  A  vigorous  writer  and  graceful  versifier.  .  .  .  We  enjoy  his 
poems  with  their  healthy,  elevated  sentiment  and  pure  pathos,  beauti 
ful  imagery  and  chaste  language  far  more  than  we  do  the  slangy  slap 
dash  effusions  of  some  of  the  '  popular  poets '  of  the  day ;  and  his 
poems  will  be  read  and  admired  after  the  latter  are  forgotten,  or  re 
membered  only  to  be  derided."— Portsmouth  Chronicler. 

"  A  volume  of  dramatic  poetry,  ...  a  great  advance  upon  the 
former  work  in  vigor  of  thought  and  delicacy  of  finish." — N.  Y. 
Times. 

"  There  is  much  power,  much  originality  of  thought,  much  subtle 
study  of  character  in  the  little  volume  before  us.  .  .  .  One  who  is 
willing  to  give  it  the  necessary  attention  will  not  go  unrewarded." — 
Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  The  poems  which  comprise  this  charming  little  volume  are  bright 
pages  for  summer  reading.  .  .  .  We  can  recommend  the  book  as 
well  worth  reading." — Burlington  Hawkey e. 


PRESS  NOTICES  OF  FORMER  POETRY.    331 

"  This  is  romance  in  poetry,  and  well  deserves  the  name.  Some  pas 
sages  are  marked  by  much  strength  and  great  beauty.  The  author 
shows  a  poet's  skill  in  analyzing  the  human  passions,  and  lays  open 
the  human  heart  with  a  true  insight  into  its  motives.  It  is  good  solid 
poetic  reading." — Pittsburg  Christian  Advocate. 

"  One  of  the  rising  new  poets  whose  published  productions  already 
give  promise  of  a  brilliant  career." — Salem  Register. 

"  The  author  evidently  possesses  poetic  fire  and  genius  of  no  mean 
order,  and  there  is  throughout  these  productions  a  beauty  in  concep 
tion,  a  fervor  of  expression,  and  smoothness  of  versification  which 
leads  one  on  from  stanza  to  stanza  irresistibly.  ...  A  delicious 
song  of  affection.  .  .  .  Full  of  pure  sentiment,  vigorous,  earnest, 
and  withal  most  marvellous  imagery  and  power."—  Lawrence  (Mass.) 
Mercury. 

"  It  is  full  of  interest,  and  sparkles,  here  and  there,  with  the  purest 
of  poetic  gems."— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  measure  is  musical,  the  sentiment  pure,  and  the  level  of  artis 
tic  workmanship  is  high  throughout."— Christian  at  Work. 

"  Fine  passages  of  delicate  thought  and  vigorous  delineation."— 
Central  Christian  Advocate. 

''  A  poetic  romance  containing  many  passages  of  charming  grace, 
the  entire  poem  being  brisk,  bright,  and  of  well-sustained  interest  to 
the  last  page." — Portsmouth  Journal. 

"  Both  works  will  repay  perusal,  being  written  from  a  lofty  and  no 
ble  Standpoint." — Christian  Union. 

"  A  writer  of  genuine  merit  and  a  poet  of  cultivated  genius.  .  .  . 
The  pure  English,  the  easy-flowing  blank  verse,  and  the  graceful  con 
ceptions  with  which  it  is  told  .  .  .  appear  to  be  characteristic  of 
this  poet  .  .  .  The  romances  are  the  embodiment  of  purity  and 
well  deserve  the  attention  of  poem  readers." — New  Bedford  Mercury. 

"  The  poems  will  give  pleasure  to  every  cultivated  mind  and  every 
sensitive  nature." — New  Haven  Journal  and  Courier. 

"  The  tone  of  both  poems  is  very  high,  and  the  labor  bestowed  upon 
them  is  so  great  as  to  render  many  passages  a  real  study.  .  .  . 
Thought  and  feeling  and  scholarship  are  clearly  shown  in  both  compo 
sitions.  .  .  .  The  most  studious  will  be  the  most  pleased."— Phila 
delphia  North  A  nterican. 

"  Both  poems  abound  in  beautiful  thoughts  clothed  in  beautiful  lan 
guage,  and  each  covers  a  great  amount  of  true  Christian  philosophy. 
The  author  evidently  has  great  ability  and  more  than  ordinary  meas- 


332   PRESS  NOTICES  OF  FORMER  POETRY. 

ure  of  poetic  fire,  and  we  shall  be  disappointed  if  he  does  not  make  to 
himself  a  famous  name  in  literature." — Peoria  Transcript. 

"...  The  dialogue  in  verse  is  capitally  interwoven  and  shows 
great  poetic  skill." — Taunton  (Mass.)  Gazette. 

"  Choice  poetry  which  cannot  fail  to  command  attention.  .  .  . 
The  author  is  a  man  of  deep  thought  and  feeling,  and  an  accomplished 
artist,  his  work  being  marked  by  pure  tone  and  high  finish."—  Water- 
•ville  Mail. 

"...  There  are  many  fine  thoughts  and  much  good  imagery 
wrought  into  these  poems,  and  the  tone  of  both  is  high  and  scholarly." 
Lutheran  Observer. 

"  Written  with  much  fluency,  flashing  with  wit  and  a  happy  fac 
ulty  of  versification.  The  author  ...  is  a  poet  decidedly  origi 
nal,  and  with  individual  ideas  of  his  own.  .  .  .  Very  delicate, 
deeply  thoughtful  and  pathetic  .  .  .  filled  with  imagery  and 
beauty." — Albany  Express. 

"  Genuine  poetic  powers  of  a  high  character." — Presbyterian  Ban 
ner. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  as  a  verse  writer  has  much  vigor,  and  his  composi 
tion  is  easy  and  flowing.  In  depicting  emotion  he  does  not  lose  his 
feet  (nor  his  head),  but  keeps  to  this  modern  sphere.  Characters  sus 
tain  themselves  in  his  hands  very  satisfactorily,  and  the  sense  of  the 
language  is  never  encumbered  in  the  interest  of  sound  and  effect  .  .  . 
A  very  high  order  of  merit." — Bath  Daily  Times. 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  poem  ...  a  brilliant,  fresh,  and  sparkling 
romance  full  of  true  poetry  and  pure  sentiment."— Buffalo  Christian 
Advocate. 

"They  are  worth  reading,  serious,  full  of  thought,  and  there  is 
poetry  in  them.  .  .  .  This  volume  ought  to  win  its  way  to  favor 
without  difficulty." — Worcester  Spy. 

"  Many  lines  and  passages  are  full  of  vigorous  beauty  .  .  .  feli 
citous  conceits  charmingly  expressed,  and  .  .  .  sentiments  clothed 
in  the  choicest  diction.  It  is  a  poem  which  one  hasty  reading  does 
not  exhaust,  but  beneath  whose  depths  are  unseen  riches.  .  .  . 
There  is  thoughtfulness  throughout  both  these  little  poems  which  will 
make  them  special  favorites  with  all  reflective  minds." — Jacksonville 
Courier. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

THE  AZTEC  GOD,  AND 
OTHER  DRAMAS 

BY  GEORGE  L.    RAYMOND 


l6MO,  CLOTH  EXTRA,  $1.25 


"  It  is  not  with  the  usual  feeling  of  disappointment  that  one  lays  down 
this  little  book.  One  reads  '  The  Aztec  God  '  with  pleasure. 
'  Cecil  the  Seer '  is  a  drama  of  the  occult.  In  it  the  author  attempts  to 
describe  the  conditions  in  the  spiritual  world  exactly  as  they  exist  accord 
ing  to  coinciding  testimony  of  Swedenborg,  of  the  modern  Spiritualist,  and 
of  all  supposed  to  have  explored  them  in  trance  states.  Indirectly, 
perhaps,  the  whole  is  a  much  needed  satire  upon  the  social,  political,  and 
religious  conditions  of  our  present  materialistic  life.  .  .  .  In 'Columbus' 
one  finds  a  work  which  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  injuring  with  fulsome 
praise.  The  character  of  the  great  discoverer  is  portrayed  grandly  and 
greatly.  .  .  .  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  anyone  who  cares  for  that 
which  is  best  in  literature  .  .  .  could  fail  to  be  strengthened  and 
uplifted  by  this  heroic  treatment  of  one  of  the  great  stories  of  the  world." 
— AT.  Y.  Press. 

"  One  must  unreservedly  commend  the  clear,  vigorous  statement,  the 
rhythmic  facility,  the  copious  vocabulary,  and  the  unvarying  elevated 
tone  of  the  three  dramas.  .  .  .  The  poetic  quality  reveals  itself  in 
breadth  of  vision  and  picturesque  imagery.  One  is,  indeed,  not  seldom 
in  peril  of  forgetting  plot  ana  character-action  in  these  dramas,  because 
of  the  glowing  imagination." — Home  Journal. 

"  The  time  and  place  make  the  play  an  historic  study  of  interest,  aside 
from  its  undoubted  high  poetic  quality  and  elevation  of  thought.  .  . 
The  metre  of  the  dramas  is  Shakespearian,  and  that  master's  influence  is 
constantly  apparent.  It  is  needless  to  say  to  those  who  know  the  author's 
remarkable  abilities  that  the  plays  are  substantial  and  reflect  perfectly 
the  author's  mind." — Portland  Transcript. 

Modern  Fishres  of  Men.    i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top    .     $1.00 

"This  delightful  novel  is  written  with  charming  insight.  The 
rare  gift  of  character  delineation  the  author  can  claim  in  full.  .  .  . 
Shrewd  comments  upon  life  and  character  add  spice  to  the  pages." — 
Nashville  Tennessean. 

"  Deals  with  love  and  religion  in  a  small  country  town,  and  under 
the  facile  pen  and  keen  humor  of  the  author,  the  various  situations 
.  .  .  are  made  the  most  of  ...  true  to  the  life." — Boston  Globe. 

"Such  a  spicy,  racy,  more-truth-than-fiction  work  has  not  been 
placed  in  our  hands  for  a  long  time." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

"  Essentially  humorous,  with  an  undercurrent  of  satire  .  .  .  also 
subtle  character  delineation,  which  will  appeal  strongly  to  those 
who  have  the  perceptive  faculties  highly  developed." — San  Francisco 
Bulletin. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

A  LIFE  IN  SONG 

BY  GEORGE  L.  RAYMOND 


l6MO,  CLOTH  EXTRA,  $1.25 


"  An  age-worn  poet,  dying  amid  strangers  in  a  humble  Tillage  home, 
leaves  the  record  of  his  life  in  a  pile  of  manuscript  poems.  These  are 
claimed  by  a  friend  and  comrade  of  the  poet,  but,  at  the  request  of  the 
cottagers,  he  reads  them  over  before  taking  them  away.  The  poet's  life 
is  divided  into  seven  books  or  *  notes,'  because  seven  notes  seem  to  make 
up  the  gamut  of  life.  .  .  .  This  is  the  simple  but  unique  plan,  .  .  . 
which  .  .  .  forms  but  the  mere  outline  of  a  remarkably  fine  study  of 
the  hopes,  aspirations,  and  disappointments  of  life,  ...  an  American 
modern  life.  .  .  .  The  author  sees  poetry,  and  living  poetry,  where 
the  most  of  men  see  prose.  .  .  .  The  objection,  so  often  brought 
against  our  young  poets,  that  form  outweighs  the  thought,  cannot  be 
urged  in  this  instance,  for  the  poems  of  Prof.  Raymond  are  full  of  keen 
and  searching  comments  upon  life.  Neither  can  the  objection  be  urged 
of  the  lack  of  the  human  element.  '  A  Life  in  Song '  is  not  only  dra 
matic  in  tendency,  but  is  singularly  realistic  and  acute.  .  .  .  The 
volume  will  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers  by  reason  of  its  clear,  musi^ 
cal,  flexible  verse,  its  fine  thought,  and  its  intense  human  interest." — 
Boston  Transcript. 

"  Professor  Raymond  is  no  dabbler  in  the  problem  of  the  human  spirit, 
and  no  tyro  in  the  art  of  word  painting,  as  those  who  know  his  prose 
works  can  testify.  These  pages  contain  a  mine  of  rich  and  disciplined 
reflection,  and  abound  in  beautiful  passages." — Hartford  Theological 
Seminary  Record. 

"  Here  are  lines  which,  if  printed  in  letters  of  gold  upon  the  front  of 
every  pulpit,  and  practised  by  every  one  behind  one,  would  transform  the 
face  of  the  theological  world.  ...  In  short,  if  you  are  in  search  of 
ideas  that  are  unconventional  and  up-to-date,  get  '  A  Life  in  Song,'  and 
read  it." — Unity. 

"  Some  day  Dr.  Raymond  will  be  universally  recognized  as  one  of  the 
leaders  in  the  new  thought-movement.  .  .  .  He  is  a  poet  in  the  truest 
sense.  His  ideals  are  ever  of  the  highest,  and  his  interpretation  is  of  the 
clearest  and  sweetest.  He  has  richness  of  genius,  intensity  of  human 
feeling,  and  the  refinement  of  culture.  His  lines  are  alive  with  action, 
luminous  with  thought  and  passion,  and  melodious  with  music." — 
Cleveland  World. 

**  The  main  impulse  and  incident  of  the  life  are  furnished  by  the  enlist 
ment  of  the  hero  in  the  anti-slavery  cause.  The  story  of  his  love  is  also 
a  leading  factor,  and  is  beautifully  told.  The  poem  displays  a  mastery 
of  poetic  rhythm  and  construction,  and,  as  a  whole,  is  pervaded  by  the 
imaginative  quality  which  lifts  '  a  life  '  into  the  region  of  poetry, — the 
peculiar  quality  which  marks  Wordsworth." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"It  is  a  great  work,  and  shows  that  America  has  a  great  poet.  .  .  . 
A  century  from  now  this  poem  will  be  known  and  quoted  wherever  fine 
thought  is  appreciated,  or  brave  deeds  sung." — Western  Rural. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

By  GEORGE  L.  RAYMOND 
l6MO,  CLOTH  EXTRA,  $1.25 


"  In  the  construction  of  the  ballad,  he  has  given  some  notable  exam 
ples  of  what  may  be  wrought  of  native  material  by  one  who  has  a  tasteful 
ear  and  practised  hand.  If  he  does  not  come  up  to  the  standard  of  the 
ancient  ballad,  which  is  the  model,  he  has  done  as  well  as  any  of  the 
younger  American  authors  who  have  attempted  this  kind  of  work,  and 
there  is  true  enjoyment  in  all  that  he  has  written.  Of  his  other  poems, 
the  dramatic  poem,  '  Haydn,'  is  finished  in  form,  and  has  literary  value, 
as  well  as  literary  power.  — Boston  Globe, 

"  The  author  has  achieved  a  very  unusual  success,  a  success  to  which 
genuine  poetic  power  has  not  more  contributed  than  wide  reading  and 
extensive  preparation.  The  ballad_s  overflow,  not  only  with  the  general, 
but  the  very  particular,  truths  of  history." — Cincinnati  Times. 

"  It  may  well  find  readers  in  abundance  .  .  .  for  the  sake  of  the 
many  fine  passages  which  it  contains.  .  .  .  'Ideals  made  Real'  has 
one  point  of  very  high  excellence  .  .  .  we  have  in  the  conception  of 
the  character  of  Edith  the  work  of  a  genuinely  dramatic  poet.  ...  In 
Edith  we  have  a  thoroughly  masculine  intellect  in  a  thoroughly  feminine 
soul,  not  merely  by  the  author's  assertion,  but  by  actual  exhibition. 
Every  word  that  Edith  speaks,  every  act  that  she  does,  is  in  accord  with 
this  conception.  .  .  .  It  is  sufficient,  without  doubt,  to  give  life  to  a 
less  worthy  performance,  and  it  proves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr.  Raymond 
is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which  is  worthy  of  the  most  careful 
and  conscientious  cultivation." — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  A  very  thoughtful  study  of  character  .  .  .  great  knowledge  of 
.  .  .  aims  and  motives.  .  .  .  Such  as  read  this  poem  will  derive 
from  it  a  benefit  more  lasting  than  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  moment." — 
London  Spectator. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet  emphatically,  and  not  a  scribbler  in  rhyme.' 
London  Literary  Churchman. 

"  His  is  no  mere  utterance  of  dreams  and  fancies.  His  poetry  takes 
hold  on  life  •  it  enters  the  arena  where  its  grandest  and  purest  motives 
are  discussed,  and  by  the  vigor  and  beauty  of  the  language  it  holds  itseli 
on  a  level  with  the  highest  themes.  .  .  .  Every  thoughtful  reader  .  .  . 
will  wish  that  the  poems  had  been  longer  or  that  there  had  been  more  of 
them.  It  would  be  possible  to  quote  passage  after  passage  of  rare, 
beauty." — Utica  Herald. 

"...  Rhythmical  in  its  flow  and  deliciously  choice  in  language 
.  .  .  indicating  a  deep  acquaintance  with  human  nature,  while  there 
is  throughout  a  tone  that  speaks  plainly  of  a  high  realization  of  the  divine 
purpose  in  life  .  .  .  Not  the  least  charming  characteristic  is  its  rich 
ness  in  pen-and-ink  pictures  marked  by  rare  beauty  and  presenting  irre 
sistibly  that  which  the  poet  saw  in  his  mind's  eye.  .  .  .  We  confidently 
promise  that  any  one  taking  it  up  will  enjoy  the  reading  throughout,  thaf 
is,  if  there  is  any  poetry  in  him.  — Boston  Evening  Journal. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Dante  and  Collected  Verse.    i6mo,  cloth,  gilt  top  .     $1.25 

"Epigram,  philosophy,  history — these  are  the  predominant  ele 
ments  .  .  .  which  masterly  construction,  pure  diction,  and  lofty 
sentiment  unite  in  making  a  glowing  piece  of  blank  verse. " — Chicago 
Herald. 

"The  poems  will  be  read  with  keenest  enjoyment  by  all  who 
appreciate  literary  genius,  refined  sentiment,  and  genuine  culture. 
The  publication  is  a  gem  throughout. " — New  Haven  Leader. 

"The  poet  and  the  reformer  contend  in  Professor  Raymond. 
When  the  latter  has  the  mastery,  we  respond  to  the  justice,  the  high 
ideals,  the  truth  of  all  he  says — and  says  with  point  and  vigor — but 
when  the  poet  conquers,  the  imagination  soars.  .  .  .  The  mountain 
poems  are  the  work  of  one  with  equally  high  ideals  of  life  and  of 
song." — Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald. 

"Brother  Jonathan  can  not  claim  many  great  poets,  but  we  think 
he  has  'struck  oil,'  in  Professor  Raymond." — Western  (England) 
Morning  News. 

"  This  brilliant  composition  .  .  .  gathers  up  and  concentrates  for  the 
reader  more  of  the  reality  of  the  great  Italian  than  is  readily  gleaned 
from  the  author  of  the  Inferno  himself." — Oakland  Enquirer. 

Pictures  in  Verse.  With  20  illustrations  by  Maud  Stumm. 
Square  8vo,  in  ornamental  cloth  covers  .  .  $  .75 

"Little  love  poems  of  a  light  and  airy  character,  describing  pretty 
rustic  scenes,  or  domestic  interiors.  ...  As  charming  for  its  illustra 
tions  as  for  its  reading  matter. " — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"Simple  songs  of  human  e very-day  experience  .  .  .  with  a 
twinkle  of  homely  _  humor  and  a  wholesome  reflection  of  domestic 
cheer.  We  like  his  optimistic  sentiments,  and  unspoiled  spirit  of 
boyishness  when  he  strikes  the  chord  of  love.  It  is  all  very  true  and 
good." — The  Independent. 

The  Mountains  about  Williamstown.  With  an  introduc 
tion  by  M.  M.  Miller,  and  35  full-page  illustrations 
from  original  photographs ;  oblong  shape,  cloth,  gilt 
edges.  Net,  postpaid  ....  $2.00 

"The  beauty  of  these  photographs  from  so  many  points  of  vantage 
would  of  itself  suffice  to  show  the  fidelity  and  affection  with  which 
Professor  Raymond  pursued  the  theme  of  his  admirably  constructed 
poems.  The  introduction  by  his  pupil,  friend,  and  associate  is  an  ex 
haustive  study.  No  better  or  more  thorough  review  could  be  written 
of  the  book,  or  more  clearly  point  out  the  directness  and  power  of 
Professor  Raymond's  work.  .  .  .  Among  his  many  books  none 
Justifies  more  brilliantly  the  correctness  and  charm  of  his  rhetorical 
instruction,  or  his  facility  in  exemplifying  what  he  commends." — 
Hartford  (Conn.)  Courant. 

Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music.  8°  .  $1.75 
"The  reader  must  be,  indeed,  a  person  either  of  supernatural 
•tupidity  or  of  marvellous  erudition,  who  does  not  discover  much 
information  in  Prof.  Raymond's  exhaustive  and  instructive  treatise. 
From  page  to  page  it  is  full  of  suggestion." — The  Academy  (London). 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
PROFESSOR  RAYMOND'S  ART-BOOKS 


Art  in  Theory.     8vo,  cloth  extra.          .        .        .        $1.75 

"  A  well  grounded,  thoroughly  supported,  and  entirely  artistic  concep 
tion  of  art  as  a  whole,  that  will  lead  observers  to  apply_  its  principles  .  .  . 
and  to  distrust  the  charlatanism  that  imposes  an  idle  and  superficial 
mannerism  upon  the  public  in  place  of  true  beauty  and  honest  work 
manship." —  The  New  York  Times.  _ 

"  His  style  is  good,  and  his  logic  sound,  and  ...  of  the  greatest 
possible  service  to  the  student  of  artistic  theories." — Art  Journal 
(London). 

The  Representative  Significance  of  Form. 

8vo,  cloth  extra.        $2.00 

"  Evidently  the  ripe  fruit  of  years  of  patient  and  exhaustive  study  on 
the  part  of  a  man  singularly  fitted  for  his  task.  It  is  profound  in  insight, 
searching  in  analysis,  broad  in  spirit,  and  thoroughly  modern  in  method 
and  sympathy." — The  Universalist  Leader. 

"  An  original  thinker  and  writer,  the  charm  of  his  style  and  clearness 
of  expression  make  Mr.  Raymond's  book  possible  to  the  general  reader, 
though  worthy  of  the  study  of  the  student  and  scholar." — Hartford 
Courant. 

Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture,  as  Representa 
tive  Arts.  With  225  illustrations,  8vo.  .  $2.50 

"  Expression  by  means  of  extension  or  size  .  .  .  shape  .  .  .  regu 
larity  in  ontlines  .  .  .  the  human  body  .  .  .  posture,  gesture,  and 
movement  .  .  .  are  all  considered.  ...  A  specially  interesting  chapter 
is  the  one  on  color." — Current  Literature. 

"  The  whole  book  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  exceptional  though tfulness, 
who  says  what  he  has  to  say  in  a  remarkably  lucid  and  direct  manner." — • 
The  Philadelphia  Press. 

The  Genesis  of  Art-Form.    Fully  illustrated.    8vo.    $2.25 

"  In  a  spirit  at  once  scientific  and  that  of  the  true  artist,  he  pierces 
through  the  manifestations  of  art  to  their  sources,  and  shows  the  relations, 
intimate  and  essential,  between  painting,  sculpture,  poetry,  music,  and 
architecture.  A  book  that  possesses  not  only  singular  value,  but  singular 
charm."— N.  Y.  Times. 

"  A  help  and  a  delight.  Every  aspirant  for  culture^  in  any  of  the 
liberal  arts,  including  music  and  poetry,  will  find  something  in  this  book 
to  aid  him.  — Boston  Times. 

Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Color  in  Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture. 

Fully  illustrated.     8vo.    $2.50 

"  No  critical  person  can  afford  to  ignore  so  valuable  a  contribution  to 
the  art-thought  of  the  day."—  The  Art-Interchange  (N.  Y.). 

"  One  does  not  need  to  be  a  scholar  to  follow  this  scholar  as  he  teaches 
while  seeming  to  entertain  ;  for  he  does  both." — Burlington  Hawk-Eyt. 

"  The  artist  who  wishes  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  color,  the  sculptor 
who  desires  to  cultivate  his  sense  of  proportion,  or  the  architect  whose 
ambition  is  to  reach  to  a  high  standard  will  find  the  work  helpful  and 
vispiring." — Boston  Transcript, 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art.    8°    .  .         .     $1.75 

This  book  is  an  attempt,  in  accordance  with  modern  methods,  aided 
by  the  results  of  modern  investigation,  to  determine  scientifically  the 
laws  of  poetic  composition  and  criticism,  by  deriving  and  distinguish 
ing  the  methods  and  meanings  of  the  varfous  factors  of  poetic  form 
and  thought  from  those  of  the  elocution  and  rhetoric  of  ordinary 
speech,  of  which  poetry  is  an  artistic  development.  The  principles 
unfolded  are  illustrated  by  quotations  from  the  first  English  poets. 

"I  have  read  it  with  pleasure,  and  a  sense  of  instruction  on  many 
points." — Francis  Turner  Pal  grave,  Professor  of  Poetry,  Oxford  Uni 
versity. 

"Dieses  ganz  vortreffiche  Werk. " — Englische  Studien,  UniversitSt 
Breslau. 

"An  acute,  interesting,  and  brilliant  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  As  a 
whole  the  essay  deserves  unqualified  praise." — N.  Y.  Independent. 

The  Essentials  of  ^Esthetics.    Fully  illustrated.      8°  $2.50 

A  compendium  of  all  the  art-volumes,  designed  as  a  Text-Book. 

/'So  lucid  in  expression  and  rich  in  illustraton  that  every  page  con 
tains  matter  of  deep  interest  even  to  the  general  reader." — Boston 
Herald. 


cons.. 

New  York  Times. 

The  Orator's  Manual.    i2mo  .  .  .     $1.50 

A  Practical  and  Philosophic  Treatise  on  Vocal  Culture,  Emphasis, 
and  Gesture,  together  with  Hints  for  the  Composition  of  Orations 
and  Selections  for  Declamation  and  Reading,  designed  as  a  Text 
book  for  Schools  and  Colleges,  and  for  Public  Speakers  and  Readers 
who  are  obliged  to  Study  without  an  Instructor,  fully  revised  with 
important  Additions  after  the  Fifteenth  Edition. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  the  most  complete  and  thorough  treatise  on 
oratory  for  the  practical  student  ever  published." — The  Educational 
Weekly,  Chicago. 

"I  consider  it  the  best  American  book  upon  technical  elocution. 
It  has  also  leanings  toward  a  philosophy  of  expression  that  no  other 
book  written  by  an  American  has  presented." — Moses  True  Brown, 
Head  of  the  Boston  School  of  Oratory. 

The  Writer  (with  POST  WHEELER,  LittD.)    I2mo    $1.00 

_  A  Concise,  Complete,  and  Practical  Text-book  of  Rhetoric,  de 
signed  to  aid  in  the  Appreciation,  as  well  as  Production  of  All  Forms 
of  Literature,  Explaining,  for  the  first  time,  the  Principles  of  Written 
Discourse  by  correlating  them  to  those  of  Oral  Discourse. 

"A  book  of  unusual  merit  .  .  .  prepared  by  practical  teachers, 
and  the  end  in  view  is  evidently  to  teach  rather  than  to  give  in 
formation." — The  Pacific  Educational  Journal. 

"The  pupil  will  forget  he  is  studying  rhetoric,  and  will  come  to 
express  himself  for  the  pure  pleasure  he  has  in  this  most  beautiful 
art." — Indiana  School  Journal. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Ethics  and  Natural  Law.     8vo       .     Net,  $2.25. 

A  Reconstructive  Review  of  Moral  Philosophy,  Applied  to  the 
Rational  Art  of  Living, — a  Book  that  is  in  effect  a  Continuation 
and  Completipn'of  the  Author's  well-known  ./Esthetic  Works,  show 
ing  the  Relationship  of  the  Principles  underlying  Art  to  the  Culture 
of  Character. 

"  The  student  of  ethics  will  considerably  fortify  his  knowledge  of 
the  history  of  ethical  thought  by  reading  the  book,  especially  the 
first  twelve  chapters.  In  these  Mr.  Raymond  embodies,  with 
copious  references,  his  expensive  knowledge  of  what  has  been  written 
and  thought  by  moral  philosophers.  On  pp.  63-67,  for  instance, 
will  be  found  in  footnotes  a  kind  of  classified  anthology  of  all  the 
definitions  given  of  conscience  by  modern  writers.  The  various 
ethical  theories  holding  the  field  do  not,  he  thinks,  recognize  as  in 
dispensable  the  cooperation,  in  every  slightest  detail  of  thought 
and  feeling,  of  the  two  necessary  factors  of  every  desire;  and  he 
claims  that  his  own  doctrine  keeps  to  the  purpose  he  avows  in  his 
opening  chapter, — to  draw  no  inference,  and  to  advance  no  theory, 
not  warranted  by  known  facts  as  ascertainable  in  connection  with 
the  operations  of  natural  law.  .  .  .  Chapters  XIII  to  XXIII 
deal  acutely  and  comprehensively  with  the  various  sides  of  American 
life." — London  (England)  Times. 

In  an  article  entitled  A  Desirable  Acquaintance,  Prof.  A.  S.  Hobart, 
D.D.  of  Crozer  Theological  Seminary,  after  mentioning  his  twenty 
years'  experience  in  teaching  Ethics,  says,  "I  fijnd  this  book  the  only 
one  that  has  come  within  the  range  of  my  reading  which  has,  for  the 
basis  of  its  system,  what  I  have  found  to  be  satisfactory.  The 
writer  assumes  that  there  is  in  the  nature  of  things  a  law  of  ethical 
conduct  as  continuous  and  self-evincing  as  is  the  law  of  physical 
health.  .  .  .  The  study  of  psychology  has  opened  the  mind  to 
inspection  as  we  open  the  back  of  a  watch-case  and  see  the  wheels 
go  round ;  and  this  study  lays  its  crown  of  victorious  explorations  at 
the  feet  of  ethics.  .  .  .  His  view  is  that  conscience  is  the  sense 
of  conflict  between  bodily  and  mental  desires.  .  .  .  therefore  not 
a  guide;  it  is  only  a  sense  of  lostness  in  the  woods,  that  wants  a 
guide.  Good  sense  and  good  religion  are  the  guides  to  be  consulted. 
By  many  illustrations  and  very  clear  reasoning  he  verifies  his  view. 
Then,  ...  he  takes  up  the  task  unusual  in  such  books — of  show 
ing  how  the  leading  moral  qualities  can  and  ought  to  be  cultivated. 
In  view  of  my  own  careful  reading  of  the  book  I  venture  to  call 
attention  to  it  as  a  most  fertile  source  of  instruction  and  suggestion 
for  ethical  teaching. — The  Baptist. 

"The  book  is  clear  and  comprehensive.  His  theory  in  regard  to 
conflict  is  reasonable,  and  the  principles  deduced  from  it  have 
philosophic  foundation." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Professor  Raymond  extracts  a  fundamental  principle  that  largely 
reconciles  existing  ethical  theories  .  .  .  makes  distinctions  that 
have  vitality,  and  will  repay  the  necessary  study  and  application." — 
Scientific  American. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


A  Poet's  Cabinet  and  An  Art  Philosopher's  Cabinet. 

Two  books  containing  quotations,  the  one  from  the  poems,  and 
the  other  from  the  aesthetic  works  of  George  Lansing  Raymond, 
selected  by  Marion  Mills  Miller,  Litt.D.,  editor  of  The  Classics, 
Creek,  and  Latin.  Each  book  8vo.  cloth-bound,  gilt  top.  $2.00 

"  Dr.  Raymond  is  one  of  the  most  just  and  pregnant  critics,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  genuine  poets,  that  America  has  produced. 
.  .  .  His  verse  generally,  and  his  prose  frequently,  is  a  solid  pack 
of  epigrams:  and  hundreds  of  the  epigrams  are  vigorous,  fresh, 
telling,  worth  collecting  and  cataloguing.  .  .  .  Probably  from  no 
other  American  but  Emerson  could  a  collection  at  all  comparable  be 
made.  Many  of  the  phrases  are  profound  paradox.  .  .  .  Others 
are  as  hard-headed  as  La  Rochefoucauld.  .  .  .  Some  are  plain 
common  sense,  set  in  an  audacious  figure,  or  a  vigorous  turn  of 
phrase.  .  .  .  But  few  or  none  of  them  are  trivial.  ...  As  an 
aesthetic  critic,  Professor  Raymond  is,  by  training  and  temperament, 
remarkably  versatile  and  catholic.  He  is  almost  or  quite  equally 
interested  in  architecture,  painting,  sculpture,  music,  poetry.  .  .  . 
Each  is  as  definitely  placed  in  his  system  as  the  several  instruments 
in  a  great  orchestra.  ...  If  Dr.  Raymond  had  been  born  in 
France,  England,  or  Germany,  he  would,  no  doubt,  have  enjoyed 
a  wider  vogue.  But  it  is  just  as  well  that  he  was  none  of  these; 
for  the,  as  yet,  sesthetically  immature  New  World  has  sore  need  of 
him." — Revue  Internationale,  Paris. 

"  We  risk  little  in  foretelling  a  day  when  all  considerable  libraries, 
private  as  well  as  public,  will  be  deemed  quite  incomplete  if  lacking 
these  twin  volumes.  Years  after  the  thinker  has  paid  the  debt  to 
nature  due,  his  thoughts  will  rouse  action  and  emotion  in  the  hearts 
and  minds  of  generations  now  unborn." — Worcester  (Mass.)  Gazette. 

"This  Poet's  Cabinet  is  the  best  thing  of  its  class — that  confined 
to  the  works  of  one  author — upon  which  our  eyes  have  fallen,  either 
by  chance  or  purpose.  We  can't  help  wishing  that  we  had  a  whole 
book-shelf  of  such  volumes  in  our  own  private  library." — Columbus, 
(0.)  Journal. 

The  number  and  variety  of  the  subjects  are  almost  overwhelm 
ing,  and  the  searcher  for  advanced  or  new  thought  as  expressed  by 
this  particular  philosopher  has  no  difficulty  in  coming  almost  im 
mediately  upon  something  that  may  strike  his  fancy  or  aid  him  in 
his  perplexities.  To  the  student  of  poetry  and  the  higher  forms  of 
literature  .  .  .  the  volume  will  be  of  distinct  aid." — Utica  (N.  Y.) 
Observer. 

"  Dr.  Miller's  task  in  selecting  representative  extracts  from  Pro 
fessor  Raymond's  works  has  not  been  a  light  one,  for  there  has  been 
no  chaff  among  the  wheat,  and  there  was  an  ever  present  temptation 
to  add  bulk  to  the  book  through  freedom  in  compilation.  He 
thought  best,  however,  to  eliminate  all  but  the  features  which 
revealed  the  rare  rich  soul  and  personality  of  the  poet,  and  each 
quotation  is  a  gem." — Albany  (N.  Y.)  Times-Union. 

"To  study  the  works  of  any  one  man  so  that  we  are  completely 
familiar  with  his  ideas  upon  all  important  subjects — if  the  man  have 
within  him  any  element  of  greatness — is  a  task  which  is  likely  to 
repay  the  student's  work.  .  .  .  This  fact  makes  the  unique 
quality  of  the  present  volume  .  .  .  quotations  which  deal  with 
practically  every  subject  to  be  found  in  more  general  anthologies." 
Boston  (Mass.)  Advertiser. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  CO. 
BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


The  Psychology  of  Inspiration.  8vo,  cloth.   (New 
Revised  Edition).     Net,  $2.00;  by  mail,  $2.14 

The  book  founds  its  conclusions  on  a  study  of  the  action  of  the 
human  mind  when  obtaining  and  expressing  truth,  as  this  action 
has  been  revealed  through  the  most  recent  investigations  of  phy 
siological,  psychological,  and  psychic  research;  and  the  freshness 
and  originality  of  the  presentation  is  acknowledged  and  commended 
by  such  authorities  as  Dr.  J.  Mark  Baldwin,  Professor  of  Psychology 
in  Johns  Hopkins  University,  who  says  that  its  psychological  posi 
tion  is  "new  and  valuable";  Dr.  W.  T.  Harris,  late  United  States 
Commissioner  of  Education  and  the  foremost  metaphysician  in  the 
country,  who  says  it  is  sure  "to  prove  helpful  to  many  who  find 
themselves  on  the  border  line  between  the  Christian  and  the  non- 
Christian  beliefs";  and  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale,  who  says  that 
"no  one  has  approached  the  subject  from  this  point  of  view." 

The  first  and,  perhaps,  the  most  important  achievement  of  the 
book  is  to  show  that  the  fact  of  inspiration  can  be  demonstrated 
scientifically;  in  other  words,  that  the  inner  subconscious  mind  can 
be  influenced  irrespective  of  influences  exerted  through  the  eyes 
and  the  ears,  *.  «.,  by  what  one  sees  or  hears.  In  connection  with 
this  fact  it  is  also  shown  that,  when  the  mind  is  thus  inwardly  or 
inspirationally  influenced,  as,  for  example,  in  hypnotism,  the  in 
fluence  is  suggestive  and  not  dictatorial.  Not  only  so,  but  such  faith 
as  it  is  natural  and  right  that  a  rational  being  should  exercise  can  be 
stimulated  and  developed  in  only  the  degree  in  which  the  text  of  a 
sacred  book  is  characterized  by  the  very  vagueness  and  variety  of 
meaning  and  statement  which  the  higher  criticism  of  the  Bible  has 
brought  to  light.  The  book  traces  these  to  the  9peration  and  re 
quirements  of  the  human  mind  through  which  inspiration  is  received 
and  to  which  it  is  imparted.  Whatever  inspires  must  appear  to  be, 
in  some  way,  beyond  the  grasp  of  him  who  communicates  it,  and 
can  make  him  who  hears  it  think  and  train  him  to  think,  in  the  degree 
only  in  which  it  is  not  comprehensive  or  complete;  but  merely,  like 
everything  else  in  nature,  illustrative  of  that  portion  of  truth  which 
the  mind  needs  to  be  made  to  find  out  for  itself. 

The  sane,  fair,  kindly  attitude  taken  gives  of  itself  a  profitable 
lesson.  The  author  proves  conclusively  that  his  mind — and  if  his, 
why  not  another's? — can  be  at  one  _and  the  same  time  sound,  sani 
tary,  scientific,  and  essentially  religious." — The  Examiner,  Chicago. 

"The  author  writes  with  logic  and  a  'sweet  reasonableness'  that 
will  doubtless  convince  many  halting  minds.  It  is  an  inspiring 
book." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  It  is,  we  think,  difficult  to  overestimate  the  value  of  this  volume 
at  the  present  critical  pass  in  the  history  of  Christianity." — The 
Arena,  Boston. 

"The  author  has  taken  up  a  task  calling  for  heroic  effort,  and  has 
given  us  a  volume  worthy  of  careful  study.  .  .  .  The  conclusion 
is  certainly  very  reasonable." — Christian  Intelligencer,  New  York. 

"Interesting,  suggestive,  helpful." — Boston  Congregationalism 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  FUNK  &•  WAGNALLS  CO. 

BOOKS  BY  PROFESSOR  RAYMOND 


Fundamentals  in  Education,  Art,  and  Civics:  Essays  and 
Addresses.  8vo,  cloth.  Net,  $1.40;  by  mail,  $1.53 

"Of  fascinating  interest  to  cultured  readers,  to  the  student,  the 
teacher,  the  poet,  the  artist,  the  musician,  in  a  word  to  all  lovers  of 
sweetness  and  light.  The  author  has  a  lucid  and  vigorous  style, 
and  is  often  strikingly  original.  What  impresses  one  is  the  per 
sonality  of  a  profound  thinker  and  a  consummate  teacher  behind 
every  paragraph." — Dundee  Courier,  Scotland. 

"The  articles  cover  a  wide  field  and  manifest  a  uniformly  high 
culture  in  every  field  covered.  It  is  striking  how  this  great  educator 
seems  to  have  anticipated  the  educational  tendencies  of  our  times 
some  decades  before  they  imprest  the  rest  of  us.  He  has  been  a 
pathfinder  for  many  younger  men,  and  still  points  the  way  to  higher 
heights.  The  book  is  thoroughly  up-to-date." — Service,  Philadel 
phia. 

"  Clear,  informing,  and  delightfully  readable.  Whether  the  sub 
ject  is  art  and  morals,  technique  in  expression,  or  character  in  a 
republic,  each  page  will  be  found  interesting  and  the  treatment 
scholarly,  but  simple,  sane,  and  satisfactory  .  .  .  the  story  of 
the  Chicago  fire  is  impressingly  vivid." — Chicago  Standard. 

"He  is  a  philosopher,  whose  encouraging  idealism  is  well  grounded 
in  scientific  study,  and  who  illuminates  points  of  psychology  and 
ethics  as  well  as  of  art  when  they  come  up  in  the  course  of  the  dis 
cussion." — The  Scotsman,  Edinburgh,  Scotland. 

"Agreeably  popularizes  much  that  is  fundamental  in  theories  of 
life  and  thought.  The  American  people  owe  much  of  their  progress, 
their  optimism,  and  we  may  say  their  happiness  to  the  absorption 
of  just  such  ideals  as  Professor  Raymond  stands  for." — Minneapolis 
Book  Review  Digest. 

Suggestions  for  the  Spiritual  Life — College  Chapel  Talks. 
8vo,  cloth  .  .  Net,  $1.50;  by  mail,  $1.63 

"Sermons  of  more  than  usual  worth,  full  of  thought  of  the  right 
kind,  fresh,  strong,  direct,  manly.  .  .  .  Not  one  seems  to  strain 
to  get  a  young  man's  attention  by  mere  popular  allusions  to  a  student 
environment.  They  are  spiritual,  scriptural,  of  straight  ethical 
import,  meeting  difficulties,  confirming  cravings,  amplifying  tangled 
processes  of  reasoning,  and  not  forgetting  the  emotions." — Hartford 
Theological  Seminary  Record  (Congregationalist). 

"The  clergyman  who  desires  to  reach  young  men  especially,  and 
the  teacher  of  men's  Bible  Classes  may  use  this  collection  of  addresses 
to  great  advantage.  .  .  .  The  subjects  are  those  of  every  man's 
experience  in  character  building  .  .  .  such  a  widespread  handling 
of  God's  word  would  have  splendid  results  in  the  production  of  men." 
— The  Living  Church  (Episcopalian). 

"  Great  themes,  adequately  considered.  .  .  .  Surely  the  young 
men  who  listened  to  these  sermons  must  have  been  stirred  and 
helped  by  them  as  we  have  been  stirred  and  helped  as  we  read  them." 
— Northfield  (Mass.)  Record  of  Christian  Work  (Evangelical). _ 

"They  cover  a  wide  range.  They  are  thoughtful,  original,  literary, 
concise,  condensed,  pithy.  They  deal  with  subjects  in  which  the 
young  will  be  interested." — Western  Christian  Advocate  (Methodist). 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


Form  Ij-0 
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L62       A  life  in  song 

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